Nightmare
by blucougar57
Summary: A near fatal shooting leaves one life changed forever. Complete.
1. Officers Down

_A/N: I have had an epiphany. This may not prove to be such a good thing for our Bobby, but it looks like this story will avoid being consigned to the scrap heap after all. And believe me, it was very, **very** close to that happening.  
Consequently, having had a brainstorm on what I can do with this (yes, more torment and misery is on the way), I've gone through it and made a few minor changes here and there. In particular, I've changed the name of Bobby's brother from Richard to Frank, in order to fall in line with the show's canon. As for whether big brother Frank is good or bad for Bobby... Well, even I haven't fully decided that yet. We'll see.  
Here's hoping, though, that I can get that long, looooooooooooong awaited next chapter posted very soon..._

_

* * *

_

Detective Alexandra Eames stood back silently, her hand resting lightly on her gun as Goren spoke to their suspect. They had come to the warehouse to talk to Dylan Black again after Carver had denied them a warrant. They hoped to see something, or learn something, that would give them the leverage to get that elusive piece of paper that would allow them the freedom to openly search for the evidence that they sincerely believed was hidden there.

As always, Goren was in full flight, doing everything in his power to put Black on the back-foot. He seemed to be succeeding, too.

Eames allowed herself the tiniest of smirks. This was one of the great things about working with a partner like Goren. There was plenty to challenge her, but at the same time she enjoyed having the opportunity to just stand back and watch her partner go hell for leather against a suspect, especially one as sick as Black. And, he was _so_ good at it, too.

Black had tried to back away from Goren, stuttering feeble protests about police harassment. Goren wouldn't let up, though, pushing himself right into the guy's face at every opportunity. Eames started forward, deciding that perhaps it was time to intervene before Goren tipped the guy over the edge of whatever thin line of sanity he was walking.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Later on, Eames would testify that Black moved so quickly, neither she nor Goren had a chance to react and defend themselves.

Goren caught the warning look that Eames threw at him, and complied by backing off. In that instant, Black's entire demeanour shifted from blubbering mess to pure rage. He grabbed Goren by the wrist in a vice-like grip, wrenching his arm around hard and fast, and Eames could hear the snap of her partner's wrist breaking even from where she stood. Goren cried out in pain as his wrist broke under the violent pressure, and his shoulder was brutally dislocated. Black snatched the detective's gun from his holster before Goren had a chance to try and stop him, and then he fired once, twice, three and four times into Goren's chest and stomach.

Eames ripped her gun from its holster, milliseconds too late. Even as Goren was still collapsing to the floor, blood rapidly blossoming out across his white shirt, Black swung the weapon around and opened fire on her as well.

Long before she felt any pain, she felt the pressure of bullets striking her, in the shoulder and the stomach, and one shattering her knee. She fired her own gun even as she fell, and was gratified to see at least one hit Black in his forearm, causing Goren's gun to be jolted out of his hand and skitter away across the floor. Black howled in pain and rage, and stumbled over to her, kicking her gun out of her hands and out of reach while he clutched his bloodied arm to his chest.

"You fucking bitch," he spat. "I'm gonna fucking kill you for that."

Eames could only look up at Black helplessly, her own gun now out of reach. Black was just drawing back his foot to deliver a vicious kick that was most certainly aimed at her head when he jerked involuntarily, and crashed to the ground next to her. Blood flowed freely from new bullet wound in his shoulder. The fight taken out of him, Black got to his feet and staggered clumsily away, disappearing from sight. A moment later, Eames heard the sound of a door slamming shut, followed by the distinct roar of an engine.

Confused and dazed, Eames looked across the floor to her wounded partner. To her amazement, and her admiration, Goren had somehow managed to drag himself far enough across the floor to recover his gun from where it had fallen. He had then fired once, with extraordinary accuracy given his injuries and the fact that he was slumped in a bloodied heap on the concrete floor, stopping Black from assaulting her.

For a long moment, the two detectives stared across the floor at each other, their individual pain reflected in each other's eyes. But now, even as Eames watched, Goren's gun fell from his grip and his eyes closed.

Panic hit and, ignoring her own wounds, she dragged herself across the floor to him.

"Bobby…"

Her voice came out weak, barely audible. He didn't respond, and she realised dimly that he was in serious danger of bleeding out right then. She was on the verge of losing consciousness herself, and knew she had one chance to call for help. They both needed help, or they were both going to die.

Fumbling with her radio, she managed somehow to detach it from her belt and activate it.

"This is Detective Eames… Need assistance… Warehouse at 1867, Wilshire Drive… Man… Manhattan… Officers down… Repeat… Officers down…"

For a long moment there was only static to be heard in answer, and for a terrifying moment she thought her voice had been too weak to be heard. Then, the static cleared and a voice resonated out of the speaker.

"_This is Central. We receive your message, Detective Eames. Dispatching an ambulance and reinforcements immediately. Can you tell me what your status is_?"

Somehow, she managed to gather the strength to speak again.

"Two officers down… myself and Detective Goren… Suspect is gone… We've both been shot… Need an ambulance…"

"_An ambulance is on its way, Detective. Just hang on_. _Try to stay awake_._ Tell me_,_ how badly are you both injured_?"

Eames shuddered. She knew the dispatcher was trying to help her to stay awake, and she appreciated it, but she simply didn't have the strength to get another word out. The radio slipped from her hand, and the last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the ever-growing pool of blood beneath her partner's body.

* * *

Captain James Deakins was in the middle of arguing with Ron Carver over the legalities of getting a warrant to search Black's warehouse when the door of his office almost exploded open, and one of the other Major Case detectives, David Ashley, stumbled in. Deakins was on his feet straight away, any irritation at being interrupted gone at the sight of Ashley's shell-shocked expression.

"Ashley? What's wrong?"

"Dispatch just took a radio call from Eames, Captain. She and Goren have both been shot. An ambulance has just been sent out to Dylan Black's warehouse, on Wilshire."

"Christ," Deakins whispered, horrified. "Ashley, grab your coat. I want you to get me out there as fast as you can."

* * *

They arrived not long after the ambulance, and had to fight their way through the multitude of police that had descended on the scene in response to Eames' desperate call.

"Oh, god," Deakins moaned as he finally got a good look at his two best detectives. Ashley, and his partner Mick Johnson, reacted instantly and hurried over to their fellow officers. Deakins followed suit, trying to get as close as he could without getting in the way of the paramedics.

Both detectives were laying side by side, blood from their wounds mingling to create one large pool of blood. From the blood trail across the floor, though, Deakins guessed that Eames had been standing over by the wall when Black had opened fire on them. She had then dragged herself over to Goren's side before making the radio call for help.

He moved back as Eames was lifted onto a gurney and rushed out to one of two waiting ambulances. He watched them go, and then looked back to where two paramedics from the second ambulance were still working frantically on Goren. The detective was still alive, though only barely.

"Son of a bitch shot him four times," Johnson said angrily.

Deakins looked around, and for the first time realised that, aside from a separate stain of blood nearby that clearly did not belong to either Goren or Eames, there was no sign of their suspected perp.

"Ashley," he said quietly, tensely. "Get on your radio, and put out an alert. Get a description of Black circulating as quickly as possible. And put out the word that no one is to try taking this scumbag down on their own. He's already shot two cops."

Ashley hurried away to do as he'd been ordered.

"Captain Deakins?"

Deakins looked around to find Johnson standing there, trying to get his attention.

"What is it, Johnson?"

"Sir, the paramedics want to know if you're going to go with either of the ambulances."

Deakins nodded, trying to shake the cobwebs form his mind.

"Yes, I will. Stay here, and see what CSU come up with. I'll call you from the hospital, and give you an update."

"What do you want me to tell everyone back at MCS?" Johnson asked softly. "They'll all be waiting to hear, Sir."

Deakins watched as Goren was taken past them to the waiting ambulance. He'd seen wounds before like those which Goren had sustained, and he knew the chances were slim that Goren would survive the journey to hospital, let alone the next twenty-four hours. But he also knew better than to count the detective out before time.

"Tell everyone that they're hanging in there," he told him quietly before hurrying after the paramedics.

* * *

"Jim?"

Deakins looked around as Ron Carver joined him in the small, private waiting room in St Clare's Hospital. He didn't even attempt a smile.

"Ron."

"How are they? Have you heard anything?"

"They both went straight into surgery," Deakins answered softly. "I haven't heard anything yet. It looks like Goren took four bullets at point blank range in the chest and gut. Eames took one in the chest… In her left shoulder, and her right knee was pretty much shattered. That son of a bitch Black did a hell of a lot of damage."

"I'm told that Mr Black is still at large. Is that true?"

Deakins nodded.

"Yes, but if he's got any brains at all, he'll turn himself in. By nightfall every cop in the Five Boroughs is going to be after his blood. From what we've been able to work out, Black managed to get Goren's gun off him…"

"Detective Goren must have been caught by surprise," Carver mused. "I can't envisage him letting anyone divest him of his gun without one hell of a struggle."

"We won't know for sure until one or both of them recovers enough to tell us. Anyway, it looks like both Goren and Eames were shot with Goren's gun… Eames managed to shoot back… Her gun had been fired as well, and there was evidence that Black had actually been shot."

"So Black is missing, and he has Detective Goren's gun…"

"No. Goren's gun was by his hand, and there was one more shot that had been fired from it, than is accounted for by the number of times Goren and Eames were both shot. I think Goren somehow got his gun back, and managed to shoot Black before losing consciousness. Maybe Black had left him to deal with Eames… I don't know."

"If that's what happened," Carver mused, "that must have taken incredible strength of will on Detective Goren's part… to recover his weapon and accurately return fire after being shot four times."

Deakins stared at the floor.

"He wouldn't have been trying to protect himself by then. He would have been trying to protect Eames. Hell, what a mess…"

"I'm sorry, Jim," Carver apologised quietly. "I could probably have gotten that warrant if I'd tried hard enough. Then they wouldn't have gone back there without support."

"This isn't your fault," Deakins told him. "I don't blame you, and I know that Goren and Eames won't blame you. The only person to blame for my two detectives being in surgery right now is Black, and he won't be a free man for long. Once word gets out about this, the entire NYPD will be looking for him."

"He would be wise to turn himself in," Carver agreed quietly. "Jim, have you contacted their family yet?"

Deakins nodded.

"I called Eames' father not long ago. He'll be here soon."

"And Detective Goren…? Does he not have any family?"

Deakins was silent for a long moment, considering his answer.

"He has an older brother, but I don't know where he is. I don't even know his name."

"But he has a mother, right? I've seen him call her on the phone."

A faint sigh escaped Deakins.

"Goren's mother is a permanent resident at Carmel Ridge. She's schizophrenic."

Carver stared at Deakins, stunned.

"Well… All of a sudden certain… aspects of Detective Goren's character make sense."

"He's not schizophrenic, Ron. Trust me, when I was looking at his application for Major Case that was the first thing I checked. A lot of his idiosyncrasies come from living with someone with the disorder."

"It would also explain his intense interest in psychology," Carver murmured. "I hate to play the pessimist, Jim, but how are you going to handle it if Detective Goren doesn't survive?"

Deakins shook his head.

"I don't know, Ron. I really don't know."

The door opened, and a doctor looked in.

"Captain Deakins?"

Deakins stood up, his heart starting to pound.

"Yes?"

"Detective Eames has come through surgery. She's going to be okay."

The relief on Deakins' face was palpable.

"Thank God for that."

"We'll need to keep her in ICU for a few days before moving her into a regular ward," the doctor went on, "but she should make a full recovery."

"And Detective Goren?" Carver asked. The doctor hesitated, his smile fading.

"I'm sorry. I just came straight from the OR. I can't tell you anything about Detective Goren yet. Excuse me…"

Then he was gone. Deakins drew in a steadying breath, sitting back down heavily.

"He isn't dead. If he was dead, they would have told us by now."

"He's strong, Jim," Carver said quietly. "He'll pull through. I'm sure of it."

There was a light knock on the door, and it opened again this time to reveal a new face. Deakins got up again quickly to greet the newcomer.

"John, it's good to see you again."

John Eames nodded and smiled, though his face was the colour of ash.

"What happened, Jim? What happened to them?"

Deakins explained what had happened as best as he was able. John listened intently, speaking only when Deakins had finished.

"So Alex will be okay? She's going to pull through?"

"The doctor came and spoke to us just a few minutes ago," Deakins reassured him. "He told us she should make a full recovery."

John sank down into one of the soft leather seats, weak-kneed with relief.

"Thank God… My little girl's okay…" Abruptly he looked back at Deakins. "What about Bobby? Is he going to be all right?"

"We don't know yet," Deakins admitted in a subdued voice. "He's still in surgery. He took four bullets in the chest and stomach at point blank range, John. In all honesty, it's not looking good for him."

"Oh no," John whispered.

"You know Detective Goren?" Carver asked, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. John smiled faintly.

"Yes, Mr Carver, I know Bobby Goren. After Alex found out that he doesn't have any family of his own, aside from a sick mother that can't support him and a brother who isn't on the scene, she made a point of making him as much a part of our family as he'd allow her to. As clichéd as this may sound, Bobby is as much a part of my family now as my own children. My family will be here for Alex, but we'll also be here for Bobby."

"Thankyou, John," Deakins murmured. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that."

"I think I might have some idea. And there's nothing worse than being alone in the hospital."

The door opened again, and another doctor looked in.

"Excuse me… Captain Deakins?"

Deakins nodded.

"That's me."

The doctor stepped all the way into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Captain Deakins, I'm Dr Fielding. I'm Detective Goren's surgeon and doctor."

Deakins felt his stomach roll unpleasantly.

"Is he dead?"

Fielding smiled faintly.

"No, Captain Deakins, he most certainly is not dead. I came down to tell you that he's still in a very serious condition, and the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical, but he came through surgery. It's only the first of a lot of hurdles he has to get over, but it's a significant one."

"Thank God," Deakins whispered, sinking weakly into one of the sofas. Fielding hesitated, and then went on quietly.

"Now I'm afraid I need to give you the bad news."

All three men stared at him intently. Fielding spoke grimly.

"We are doing everything we can to keep Detective Goren alive, but there are two factors working against him at the moment. The first is that one of the bullets literally shredded his spleen. In the end, we had no choice but to remove it. Unfortunately, that means he is more vulnerable to infections, and if he were to contract an infection at this stage, it would probably prove fatal. So I'm afraid that at the moment, it isn't possible for him to have any visitors. We've had to set up an oxygen tent around him in order to try and keep the environment completely clean. We're going to need to keep these measures in place for the next forty-eight hours at least."

"What is the other factor?" Carver asked, not entirely sure that he really wanted to know.

"We couldn't remove all of the bullets," Fielding explained. "One of them is resting against his spine, and at the moment there is no surgeon here with the skill to safely remove it. If I'd tried to do it, it probably would have resulted in permanent paralysis. More to the point, I probably would have finished what the person who shot him was trying to do in the first place."

"So you're just going to leave the bullet there?" Deakins asked, horrified.

"Right at the moment, there's nothing else we can do," Fielding answered. "I've contacted a friend of mine in Washington D.C., who is an expert with this particular kind of situation, and he's agreed to come and perform the operation to remove the bullet, but he can't get here until tomorrow night. Until then, we're going to keep Detective Goren in an induced coma to try and prevent any worse damage being done."

"And you're saying we can't see him at all?" John asked.

"You can see him through the observation window, but that's all. It's vital that we keep his environment as clean and sterile as possible."

John sighed faintly.

"Well, I suppose that when Alex wakes up we can at least tell her that he's still alive."

"Dr Fielding, I'd like to see Goren now, if I can," Deakins said quietly. Fielding stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded.

"Of course."

* * *

Minutes later, not only Deakins but John Eames and Ron Carver as well stood looking through the observation window into the specially contained room in which Goren lay. The number of machines to which he seemed to be hooked up was intimidating, to say the least.

"One thing that is in his favour is his strength of will," Fielding explained. "Your detective is a fighter, Captain Deakins. He's not quitting, that's for sure."

Deakins nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It had been almost impossible for him to equate the detective he knew with the man who was now fighting for his life in the next room, but the doctor's words had just put it into complete perspective for him. Goren _was_ a fighter, and now he was in for the biggest fight of his life. Whatever happened from this point on, win or lose, Bobby Goren had already proven himself a true hero.

"I have to call my office. They'll be waiting for news."

He spared his wounded detective a last look, and then headed silently out of Critical Care.

* * *

Detective Eric Janssen hung the phone up after speaking to Johnson, and had to take a moment to try and calm himself. Finally, when he'd gathered his wits, he turned around and was not entirely surprised to find all the officers currently on deck standing there watching him.

"Well?" Detective Tony Belmont asked tensely. "What's happening, Eric? Are they going to be okay?"

Janssen hesitated just a moment before answering.

"That was Johnson. He just had a call from Deakins, who went to the hospital with the ambulances. Eames is going to be okay. She's got a fair bit of rehab ahead of her, though. That son of a bitch Black shot out one of her knees, as well as her shoulder. But she's going to be okay."

There was a collective sigh of relief at the news.

"What about Goren?" someone else asked a moment later. Janssen drew in a calming breath.

"Not so good. He came through surgery, but the Captain said they've got him in an induced coma. One of the bullets is pressing against his spine, and they can't get it out until a specialist arrives tomorrow."

"Shit," someone muttered. Janssen hesitated, and then went on quietly.

"They had to remove his spleen."

Stunned silence met his words. Most of them understood the implications of that.

"For God's sake, why?" Jeremy Wolf asked in horror.

"Deakins said one of the bullets practically tore it to shreds. He's in a critical condition… I don't think they're expecting him to survive."

Heavy silence met the grim statement. Then, finally, someone spoke in a harsh, bitter voice.

"Damn Carver. If he'd gotten the warrant for them like they asked, they would have had back-up. This wouldn't have happened."

An angry murmur of agreement swept through the group. Janssen glanced at his partner, Belmont, silently begging him to do or say something before there was a riot.

"Okay," Belmont said firmly, drawing the attention of the officers. "Eames is going to be okay, but Goren is still critical. Get on your phones, all of you, and start calling around. Let's get a vigil organised."

With new purpose, the detectives and officers hurried back to their desks to do just that."

* * *

****

**_Special Victims Unit_,  
****_a few hours later_**

Elliot Stabler had been focused on paperwork from his last case, more or less oblivious to the world around him, when the sound of his partner swearing loudly drew him back to reality with a jolt. He looked up, and felt his stomach roll unpleasantly at the look on her face. Something had happened, something bad. The question was what?

"Yes, I'll pass it on," she said hoarsely. "Thanks, Danny. I appreciate the call."

She hung up, and looked across the desk at Elliot.

"What's happened?" he asked, his voice tense with anticipation.

"You remember my friend, Alex Eames?"

"The one you when through the Academy with?"

"That's her. She and her partner were both shot earlier today by a suspect."

"Christ… What happened?"

"Apparently they wanted a warrant to search a warehouse, and the ADA wouldn't come through, so they went back there to try and find something that _would_ get them a warrant. No one knows exactly what happened yet, only that the suspect shot Robert Goren four times at point blank range in the chest and stomach. Then he shot Alex in the chest, shoulder and knee."

Elliot drew in a long breath. He'd heard plenty about Goren and, in all honesty, he didn't think too highly of the unorthodox detective. Alex Eames was a good friend of Olivia's, though. Plus, they were both cops, and when someone messed with one cop, they messed with all cops.

"Are they going to be okay?" he asked.

"Apparently Alex is out of danger," Olivia said quietly. "But Goren isn't. He's in critical condition. The detectives at Major Case want to organise a vigil for him."

Fin, who had been going past at that moment, halted when he heard the word vigil mentioned.

"Did you say vigil? What's happened? Did a cop get shot?"

"Two, actually," Olivia said, standing up. "Hang on, Fin. I'll go and speak to Cragen, and then I'll tell everyone."

* * *

Captain Donald Cragen looked up at Olivia, stunned by what she was telling him.

"Goren and Eames? I know those two. How the hell did they manage to get themselves into a situation like that?"

"Apparently the ADA wouldn't give them a warrant, so they went back to their suspect. He pulled a gun and shot them both. I was told that Eames is going to be okay, but Goren's in a pretty bad way."

"How bad are we talking about here?"

"Sir, apparently he took four in the chest and gut, at point blank range."

"Hell…"

"The doctors could only get three of the bullets out. One of them is pushing against his spine. They have to wait for a specialist to arrive from DC before they can even try to get it out. They've put him into an induced coma to try and keep him as stable as possible. He's in a critical condition, Captain. It wasn't said, but I got the impression that no one's really expecting him to survive."

"Shit," Cragen muttered. "That's bad. Has anything been said about setting up a vigil?"

"The Major Case detectives have started organising it. Is it okay with you if I let everyone know?"

Cragen nodded.

"Sure, Olivia. Go ahead and tell them. I'll call Jim Deakins, and see if there's anything we can do."

She headed out of Cragen's office even as he picked up his phone to make the call.

* * *

As it turned out, she didn't need to make any effort to call everyone in. In the few minutes she had been in with Cragen, word had spread like wildfire that two cops had been shot on duty. When she emerged, she found they were all waiting for her, waiting to find out the facts.

"Olivia?" John Munch asked, his voice reflecting the tension that was building in the room. "What's happened?"

She explained once more, silently marvelling that her voice didn't waver. The other officers in the room listened intently as she told them the grim news.

"Earlier this morning, Alex Eames and Bobby Goren from Major Case went to a warehouse in Manhattan to talk to a suspect. The guy pulled a gun on them… He shot Goren four times, and then he shot Eames three times. Eames will be okay eventually, but she's going to need a complete knee reconstruction. One of the bullets shattered her knee."

"What about Goren?"

"He was in a pretty bad way," Benson answered. "I don't know all the details, except that one of the bullets is pressing against his spine, and they're not going to even try to take it out until a specialist arrives from DC some time tomorrow. They've put him into an induced coma to keep him stable."

"They don't think he's gonna make it, do they?" Fin asked tensely. Benson shook her head. She could see no point in trying to delude either herself or them.

"No. They don't."

"What about the son of a bitch that shot them?" someone asked angrily. "Where's he?"

At that, Olivia hesitated. If she didn't get this out in the right way, there could easily be several of their own officers – Elliot included – who were likely to lose it and go vigilante.

"The suspect got away," she said, and went on quickly even as the angry murmuring began. "But they know for certain that he's wounded. CSU have found evidence suggesting that both Goren and Eames each managed to shoot him at least once. They're pretty sure that Goren hit Black from behind…"

"In other words," Munch said, "the son of a bitch was going after Eames, and Goren tried to take him out, even though he'd already taken four bullets himself."

Olivia nodded.

"That's what CSU think happened. They found a bullet from Goren's gun in the wall. It apparently has blood and tissue on it that doesn't belong to either Goren or Eames. CSU are apparently pretty confident that when they do a scene reconstruction, it'll prove that Goren fired his gun from where he was lying on the floor."

A murmur swept through the room. To have picked up his gun and shot the suspect in what appeared to be defence of his partner had to have taken phenomenal courage, and strength of will, after suffering potentially fatal wounds such as those Benson had just described.

"The asshole that did this is not going to get far," said Cragen, who had emerged from his office behind Olivia. "His description's being distributed to every department, and every black and white in the five boroughs. So no one's to get any ideas about going vigilante here. Olivia, you want to tell them about the vigil?"

"Major Case are organising a vigil for Bobby Goren," she told them. "Anyone who wants to be involved is welcome. Just contact Eric Janssen at MCS."

"I'll take names, and let him know," Munch volunteered, and was promptly overwhelmed by the small crowd of officers. Benson took her chance, and slipped away from the group. She was met near her desk by her partner.

"C'mon," Stabler said, ushering her towards the door.

"Where are we going?"

"To the hospital. I don't know if you'll be able to see your friend yet, but we can at least be there."

"But Cragen…"

"I spoke to Cragen while you were telling everyone what happened. He gave us the okay to go straight to St Clare's. Now, c'mon…"

She allowed herself to be led out without further protest.

* * *

_Early the following morning_

Alex Eames awoke to darkness, and pain. Her entire body seemed to hurt, but the pain was worst in her left arm, and her right leg. She moaned aloud, trying to shift positions only to suffer even worse pain than before. A choked sob escaped her throat as she waited for the pain to fade.

Gradually, it did, and as it faded she became aware of a rough, warm hand gently holding hers. It was a familiar touch, and she opened her eyes slowly to discover her father sitting there watching her through red-rimmed eyes.

"Dad…" she whispered, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He smiled tearfully at her.

"Welcome back, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"Hurts…" she mumbled.

"I know it does, honey, but that won't last. You're going to be okay. Do you understand me, Alex? You're going to be all right."

She didn't answer, instead staring up at the ceiling in silent confusion. What had happened to her…?

Abruptly, she remembered. She remembered Black, going to his warehouse with Bobby… She remembered Black shooting Bobby, and then her…

"Bobby," she whispered suddenly, panic causing her chest to tighten painfully, and send her heart rate through the roof. John Eames glanced worriedly at the heart monitor, which had suddenly spiked wildly, then back at his daughter.

"He's still alive, Alex. He's hanging in there. Calm down, sweetheart. You have to calm down, now."

Slowly, Alex relaxed in the bed. She knew his injuries had been potentially fatal, so to be told that he was still alive… still fighting… was a comfort to her.

She felt her father's hand on her forehead, his calloused fingers stroking her temples soothingly. Grateful for his protective presence, she finally relaxed fully and slipped back into the relief of black nothingness.

* * *

John sighed with relief as his daughter lost consciousness again. He was thankful that she had woken up, but was equally thankful that it hadn't been for very long. She was going to be in a lot of pain for a while, so any time spent asleep was going to be a blessing.

He watched her for a long while, continuing to gently stroke her forehead and temple in a tender gesture of fatherly love. It had been a long time since he'd been able to show affection for any of his children in this way, and while the situation itself was god-awful, he was glad for the chance to be there for one of his children in a way that he'd not been able to for many years.

Slowly, his thoughts turned to Alex's partner. He felt deeply for Bobby Goren, having no family to be there for him. In his opinion, there were few things worse than being critically ill in hospital, and having no family to provide support.

He remembered when Alex had first introduced Bobby to him, just a few short weeks after they'd started working together in Major Case. After a particularly bad experience with a violent partner in Vice, Alex had been full of praise for her new partner, a man who preferred to use brains over brawn.

Upon meeting him, John had thought Bobby Goren to be a very reserved, almost shy person, a trait that he found odd in someone who had First Grade status as a detective in something as elite as the Major Case Squad. He had gone away from that first meeting unsure of whether he liked Goren or not, despite his daughter's growing respect and liking for her partner.

It was almost six months later that Alex had come over one evening, deeply troubled. She'd been reluctant about talking to him, but had given in eventually. She had learned just that day that her partner's mother was a permanent resident at Carmel Ridge, a diagnosed schizophrenic, and all Alex had known about the illness was that it was hereditary.

John had immediately understood her fears. She was genuinely afraid that Bobby Goren suffered from the illness as well, even if on a mild, functioning level. If that was the case, then she was in a very bad situation, with a partner who could potentially go off the rails at any time.

His first instinct had been to tell her to go straight to her commanding officer. But something had stopped him. Instead, he had convinced her to go to her partner, and ask him honestly about it. If she was still worried after that, then it would be time to go to her captain.

She'd followed his advice, and had come back a week later noticeably happier. She'd had a long talk with her partner, and he had taken her to meet with a specialist doctor, who had given her all the information she could want on schizophrenia. He had also relieved her fears that her partner was also afflicted. He might have had some odd qualities and eccentricities, but that was something that came from living with someone with schizophrenia, rather than having the illness himself.

Her fears allayed, Alex had said no more about it, and John had sat back and watched his daughter's friendship with Bobby Goren grow and deepen. And gradually, over time, Alex had succeeded in drawing Bobby ever closer into their family circle.

Though John had known nothing more than what Alex had originally confided to him, he suspected that Bobby had not had a father to look up to and rely on during his childhood, something that had to have been hard on him, with his mother's condition being what it was. He could tell in the way that Bobby would defer to him, as a son would to the father that he both loved and respected. Whether or not Goren Senior was still around, it was blatantly obvious to John that Bobby had no respect whatsoever for his own father.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, Bobby had come to identify with John as a father-figure. At first, John had been uncomfortable with that, until it finally came out just what a horrendous childhood he had really had. John had been horrified to learn that Bobby's father had openly turned to other women from the time that his wife had her major breakdown, and finally walked out on her, and his two sons, when Bobby was just eleven years old.

From what he had been able to glean, John guessed that Bobby Goren had spent most of his teen years both learning to cope with his mother's illness, and competing with his brother for what scant attention their father afforded them, whenever he happened to be around. He suspected that more often than not, Bobby had come off second-best, unable to gain any of that much-needed, much-desired attention.

At that point, John had begun throwing subtle suggestions to his daughter to invite her partner over for the occasional meal, and then for celebrations such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. Goren had been visibly reluctant at first, but it hadn't taken long for him to fit in with the family.

It had been like that ever since. Now, when Goren needed family support more than ever, John was determined not to let him down. He had already called his other two children – Alex's younger brother Philip, and her older sister Alison. Both of them would be there within the next hour or two, as would his two brothers, Frank and Marty. They, too, were cops, and had promised to come straight away.

After a moment's consideration, John got to his feet and headed silently out of the room, and down the corridor.

* * *

He got into the observation room adjoining Goren's room without any hassle. The staff had been instructed to let him in without question. Acknowledging the two officers who kept vigil outside the room with a nod and a tired smile, John went in and over to the observation window.

There was no visible change in Goren's condition, nor would there be until that evening, when the specialist arrived from DC. Right now, Bobby Goren existed in an induced state of unawareness, his condition kept stable by the myriad of machines to which he was hooked up. Right now, to turn off even one of those machines would result in his death.

The doctors and nurses of St Clare's were fighting damned hard to keep that from happening.

Movement caught his attention, and he looked around to see Jim Deakins had appeared next to him.

"I thought you'd gone," John said quietly. Deakins looked past John, into the room where Goren lay.

"I went back to the office for a while… Then I went home. I couldn't sleep, so I came back here. How is Alex?"

"She woke up for a few minutes. She's going to be okay, like her doctor said."

"Thank God. Now, if He'll just see fit to bring Bobby through as well…"

"Bobby's strong, Jim. He's a fighter. I think he'll pull through."

Deakins didn't answer, but instead continued to stare through the window into the room.

Goren was not clearly visible through the plastic of the oxygen tent, and the many leads and tubes that were attached or inserted into his upper body. The clearest indication they had that he was even still alive was the heart monitor that beeped steadily, and the machine measuring brain activity. The doctor had been most encouraged by the output from that machine. It showed good, strong activity, he'd told them, and was the best indication that Goren was still fighting.

The doctor's evaluation meant little to Deakins and John, except that the stronger the output, the better his chances were.

"It's hard to imagine," John said softly. "Bobby always seemed to have a sixth sense for avoiding trouble. I mean, I know there's plenty of danger in their work, but I remember Alex saying once that while she was around Bobby, she never really felt in danger."

Deakins nodded.

"Ninety-nine percent of the time, he has everything under control. I've never known a detective to be able to manipulate suspects the way he does. It's incredible to watch him work, John."

"I can imagine. Well, actually, I can't. But Alex can't praise him enough."

"They have a good partnership," Deakins said softly. "And Bobby is still thanking his lucky stars for the day that Alex agreed to take him on as her partner."

John looked sideways at Deakins questioningly.

"How do you mean?"

A tired smile flickered across Deakins' face.

"Bobby was on his last chance when Alex came to me and told me she was willing to work with him on a trial basis. He'd gone through eleven partners in eighteen months before Alex stepped up to the plate. They either couldn't keep up with him, or couldn't stand to work with him."

John stared at Deakins incredulously.

"You're joking…"

"I'm not. Bobby had himself a real reputation. The day that she made her offer, I hauled him into my office, and told him he had one last chance. I told him that I wouldn't tolerate him driving Alex away as well, and that if he couldn't keep her as a partner and I had to choose between them, then I'd choose Alex in a heartbeat. I didn't want it to come to that, believe me. But I couldn't have a detective in my squad who couldn't work together with a partner, and I wasn't going to lose Alex from my squad… no matter how brilliant Bobby was at the job."

"How'd he react to that?"

"It was almost funny," Deakins said wryly. "He kept himself under control for nearly a week before he went into full flight in the interview room against a suspect. I remember watching Alex and thinking, that's that. We've lost another one. But she surprised me. I could see she was thrown by his performance, but she never came to me about it. She went to Bobby instead, and talked to him directly. I don't know even now what was said between them, but after that day, they've just gone from strength to strength. They're my best detectives, and I don't want to lose either one of them."

John looked back into the room where Goren lay in his induced coma. He wondered quietly whether the captain was aware that he'd ceased calling his detective 'Goren', and was now referring to him solely as 'Bobby'. He wondered, but refrained from commenting on it.

"He'll live, Jim. I honestly believe that."

Deakins didn't trust himself to answer. He wanted to believe that, but standing there, watching Goren struggling to survive, he couldn't help but doubt.

* * *

_tbc..._


	2. Waiting Game

_Special Victims Unit_

"Excuse me… Captain…?"

Cragen looked up as Fin came into his office. The detective looked even more intense than usual, Cragen mused silently.

"What is it, Fin?"

"Sir… I was just wondering, could I have permission to go to St Clare's?"

Cragen raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Elliot and Olivia are already there."

"I know, sir. I know that Olivia is there because Alex Eames is her friend…"

"What are you trying to say, Fin?"

"Sir, I'd like to go and see Detective Goren… if that's okay."

Cragen set his pen down on the desk, and sat back in his chair, eyeing Fin intently.

"Why?"

"He's my friend, sir."

That was news to Cragen.

"Your friend?"

"We were partnered together for two and a half years in Narcotics," Fin said by way of explanation.

Cragen couldn't contain the incredulous expression on his face.

"You say he's your friend, but you've never mentioned it before now."

"It wasn't anybody else's business before now," Fin countered defensively. Cragen conceded with a nod.

"Fair enough. Look, head over to St Clare's. I can only afford to have two detectives over there, though, so you can stay if you can convince Elliot to come back here. Okay?"

Fin nodded, grateful.

"Thankyou, Captain."

* * *

_St Clare's Hospital_

Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler sat together in a far corner of the cafeteria, neither one speaking and both nursing rapidly cooling cups of coffee. Olivia had finally been permitted in to see Alex Eames briefly a while ago, courtesy of a special request to the nursing staff by her father John. It had been a painfully short visit that did little to alleviate Olivia's fears for her friend.

Alex had not been awake at the time, and didn't seem likely to wake up for a long while yet. At least, not properly. Olivia had left reluctantly, knowing it would be some time before being allowed back in.

"She's gonna be okay, Liv," Elliot said softly. "They'll do the knee and shoulder reconstructions in a few days, when she's recovered some, and then it'll be all downhill from there."

Olivia couldn't bring herself to smile. Instead, fresh tears threatened to work their way out of her eyes.

"You know, when we were still in the Academy, we took a bet over which of us would get shot first. Looks like she won that bet."

Stabler reached across and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"She'll be okay, Olivia," he said again. Olivia wiped distractedly at her eyes.

"I know. It's just… Even though we know we have to be prepared for this sort of thing, it's still a shock when it happens. And I never really expected it to happen. Especially not to Alex."

"Yeah, well… With that nutcase Goren for her partner, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

Olivia looked up at Elliot, then, frowning deeply.

"That's not funny, Elliot."

"It's not supposed to be. I know what the guy's reputation is, Liv. Everyone does. He was a disaster waiting to happen."

"You'd better start keeping comments like that to yourself," a new voice said, and they looked up to find John Munch standing there.

"What are you doing here?" Olivia asked. "Cragen doesn't want us back there, does he?"

Munch sat down opposite them.

"Not you, Olivia. He'd like you back there, Elliot."

"How come?"

"I came with Fin," Munch explained. "He wanted to see Goren. Captain Cragen said he could come and wait here with Olivia if you're willing to go back to the office with me."

Elliot regarded Munch with a mixture of curiosity and mirth.

"Now why would I want to do that? And why would Fin want to see Goren anyway?"

"You don't know?" Munch asked. "Goren and Fin worked together in Narcotics. They were partners for two and a half years. From what I've heard, where Goren's concerned, that's the longest anyone's ever worked with him for, after Eames. Rumour has it he went through ten or eleven partners at Major Case before Alex Eames came along."

"So where's Fin now?" Olivia asked.

"Up in ICU. Goren is still in isolation, but apparently there's an observation room where visitors can see him…"

"Bet there's a bucket load," Elliot muttered, and Munch frowned darkly at him.

"Knock it off, Elliot. You might not like the guy, but you ought to take a few things into account before verbally taking him apart. Firstly, he and Fin weren't just partners. They're friends. Secondly, you're taking cheap shots at a guy who can't defend himself. Thirdly, he's a cop. Case closed."

Elliot reddened noticeably at the admonishment, and returned his attention to his coffee, opting to stay silent. Olivia, however, watched Munch in wonder.

"Fin's really upset, isn't he?"

"I wouldn't say upset as much as devastated," Munch replied bluntly. "But yeah, he's taking it pretty hard. Goren's a really good friend of his."

Within seconds, Olivia had made up her mind.

"C'mon," she said, standing up.

"Where are we going?" Elliot asked suspiciously as he, too, got up.

"Back up to ICU, to see Goren."

Elliot promptly sat back down again.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll wait here."

A second later, he yelped as Olivia hit him hard on the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"For being an insensitive jerk," Olivia snapped. "Now get up. You might not like Goren, but you can at least show a little support for Fin."

Elliot didn't dare argue further. Scowling, he followed his two colleagues out of the cafeteria.

* * *

_ICU_

"Detective Tutuola, isn't it?"

Fin looked around to see a face that he didn't recognise behind him.

"Yes. Sorry, you are…?"

"Jimmy Deakins."

The men exchanged a cursory handshake.

"Pleased to meet you, Captain."

"Likewise. Bobby has spoken about you a lot, Detective."

Fin nodded wordlessly. In their many get-togethers, Bobby had talked a lot about his partner and his captain, but he didn't particularly feel like sharing right then. Deakins went on quietly.

"He and Alex Eames have made damned good partners, but I think Bobby was always disappointed that you opted to apply for SVU instead of Major Case."

Fin had to smile at that as he looked through the observation window at his incapacitated friend. He distinctly remembered _that_ discussion from their last days together in Narcotics.

"We worked well together," Fin said quietly. "But Major Case and SVU are a different ballgame. I wasn't suited to Major Case. He was."

Deakins was silent for a long moment, looking into the room in which Goren lay in his induced coma.

"I appreciate you coming, Detective," Deakins said finally. "And so will Bobby. There have been plenty of cops through here, but none have come because they like him. It's only because he's another cop. It's reassuring to know that he does have a friend who's willing to be here for him."

Fin glanced at Deakins.

"How long before he comes out of isolation?"

"They can't answer that until they've operated to get the last bullet out."

"So there really is a bullet still inside him," Fin said softly, and Deakins nodded in answer.

"It's pressing against his spine. They couldn't do anything about it until the specialist arrived from Washington D.C."

"So when's this operation supposed to be happening?"

"It'll happen in a few hours. The surgeon who'll do the procedure arrived a short while ago."

"It's dangerous, isn't it?"

"Yes," Deakins answered simply. He could see no point in lying.

"Do they think he's gonna die?"

"It's a risk. They'll do everything they can to keep him alive, though. We just have to hope and pray that Bobby's stubbornness goes in his favour."

He decided against mentioning the risk of permanent paraplegia. They all had enough to worry about without adding that to the burden of stress.

"What about his mother?" Fin asked suddenly, unexpectedly. "Has anyone gone to Carmel Ridge yet to tell her?"

The look of surprise on Deakins' face said it all. Fin smiled grimly.

"Yes, I know about his mom. I've always known. Bobby and I have been friends for a long time, Captain Deakins. We grew up together. We were neighbours when we were kids. I saw everything he went through with his mom, and how it just about killed him when his dad packed up and left. That's why we could work together in Narcotics. I already knew all about his personal demons, and it didn't bother me. If you'd like… I'll go to Carmel Ridge to talk to his mother. She knows me… and I know how to talk to her. Especially if Bobby doesn't… you know, doesn't make it."

"That's good to know," Deakins murmured. "He'll be all right, though, Detective. I can't accept any other outcome. While we're on the subject of family, though, I don't suppose you would know where we could reach his brother? I don't even have a name."

Fin sucked in his breath sharply.

"Frank. His brother's name is Frank, and I wouldn't bother if I were you, Captain. Bobby's better off not having him around."

Deakins was about to ask why when a voice spoke from the doorway, interrupting them.

"Fin?"

They looked around as Olivia, Elliot and Munch ventured in. Deakins smiled faintly. Though he didn't know them personally, he'd heard plenty about the SVU team that got such good results. He suspected they were here not for Goren but for Detective Tutuola, but that didn't bother him. Tutuola _was _there for Goren, and that was all he needed to know. Deciding to tackle the detective later about the subject of Goren's older brother, Deakins moved towards the door.

"Excuse me," he murmured, and left the room, leaving the four detectives alone.

"Christ, look at him," Elliot muttered, his instinctive animosity towards Goren momentarily forgotten as he looked through the window at the injured man.

"Fin, you okay?" Olivia asked, quietly grateful for the opportunity to divert her attention from her own worries. Fin accepted a hug from her, then leant back against the two-way mirror.

"I guess so. Just never expected to see Bobby taken down like this."

"None of us are invincible," Munch pointed out. Fin frowned.

"I know that. But Bobby… He always had it totally together. You know, in all the time we worked together, he never had to use his fists? A couple of times we got into a bad situation, and he always managed to talk his way out of it. I always thought he was too damned smart to get himself shot."

"Guess the guy isn't Superman after all, huh?" Elliot commented flippantly. Fin looked at Elliot sharply. He'd heard that tone too often before to mistake it now.

"That's a cheap shot, Elliot."

Elliot shrugged.

"Sorry, but let's face it. Goren has a reputation longer than most perps' rap sheets. The guy's a freak…"

An instant later, Munch was struggling to hold Fin back as the detective lunged furiously at Elliot.

"You wanna go wait for me at the car?" Munch suggested breathlessly to Elliot. "Now, Elliot. Before I lose my grip on Bruce Lee, here."

Elliot went, quickly. Then, only when Munch was sure it was safe, did he let go of his partner.

"I'm sorry, Fin," Olivia murmured. Fin scowled angrily.

"You don't have anything to apologise for. But the next time I see Elliot, he'd better have a damned good apology ready. Bobby ain't a freak. He's a damned good cop who happens to be really smart. If Elliot could take his head out of his ass for five minutes, he'd see that for himself."

Munch moved towards the door.

"I'll get going. I'll call you both later, okay?"

Olivia watched him go, then looked back to Fin. The detective was already turned back to the mirror, looking through at his friend in the next room.

"He'll be all right, Fin," she said, trying to reassure herself as much as him. "They both will be."

"His partner doesn't still have a bullet inside of her, though, does she?" Fin said. Olivia hesitated in answering.

"They're supposed to be operating again tonight to get it out."

"It could kill him, Olivia. He might not survive the operation."

"He will. Be positive."

Fin sighed, and slumped miserably against the thick glass.

"I'm trying. It just ain't working."

* * *

_That evening_

When Alex awoke next, she found she was considerably more alert than before. She lay still and silent for a while before deciding that the pain level was tolerable. Finally accepting that she was indeed awake, and reasonably alert, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she became aware of as her vision slowly came into focus was the tall metal pole, to which a drip was attached, steadily feeding a special formula into her body to keep her from dehydrating. There was a myriad of other machines around, most of which she had no idea of their uses.

"Alex?"

She looked around slowly in the direction of the voice, and felt a surge of relief and comfort to see not only her father, but also her two uncles, her older brother and her younger sister.

"Welcome back," Marty Eames said with a warm smile to his niece. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," she mumbled, her voice barely more than a whisper, her throat parched. Alison indicated to the water on the dresser by the bed.

"Get her some water, Dad."

John filled a glass halfway and carefully held it to his daughter's lips, allowing her take a tiny sip, enough to soothe her dry throat.

"Thanks," she whispered. Frank leaned over, brushing his fingertips affectionately against her cheek.

"You gave us all one hell of a scare, little girl."

A weak smile touched her lips.

"Just… keeping you on your toes…"

"Well, you're going to be all right," John reassured her. "That's all that matters."

She was silent for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling and trying to gather her thoughts.

"What about Bobby?" she asked finally. Silence met her question as her father and uncles exchanged grim looks. Her heart rate picked up slightly in reaction.

"What's happened?" she asked hoarsely. John sighed tiredly.

"We were hoping we wouldn't have to tell you until afterwards. Bobby went back into surgery about an hour ago. A specialist flew in from DC. They're going to try and remove the bullet that's lodged against his spine."

Fear wrenched at her insides. Even in her semi-aware state, she understood the dangers of such an operation. She felt a hand grasp her own, and looked to see her father staring at her intently.

"He's a fighter, Alex. Just like you. Have faith in your partner. Believe that he'll be all right."

Tears filled her eyes and overflowed before she could stop them. She wanted to believe that so much, but all of a sudden she was overwhelmed by the memory of watching Black fire four bullets into her partner's body before she had even had a chance to draw her own weapon.

In her mind's eye, she watched again as his body jerked involuntarily from the deadly impact, and collapsed helplessly to the floor, blood spreading rapidly out across his shirt. And she saw, again, the terrifying image of him slipping away into nothingness after shooting Black to protect her from further harm.

Guilt ground away at her. Had she been just a little quicker…

"Alex, stop it."

She looked around in confusion, jolted out of her memories by the hard voice of her Uncle Frank. He watched her with a stern, yet understanding gaze.

"Don't you dare let yourself feel guilty, Alex. Not for any reason. What happened was no one's fault, except the scum that shot you and your partner. Neither of you has anything to be sorry about. Especially to each other."

Slowly, reluctantly, Alex relaxed. She knew her uncle was right, and she had to get a grip on her emotions. Whatever else she might be feeling, guilt had no place among those emotions. Not for either of them.

Frank Eames smiled a little with relief, grateful to see her accept his words without a fight.

"How long before we know anything?" she asked, half-expecting them not to answer. To her surprise, her father answered almost straight away.

"We were told it would be at least three hours. So we won't hear anything for a couple of hours yet."

She sighed faintly.

"He'll be okay," she mumbled. "He has to be."

John hesitated, and then ventured a question.

"Alex, do you remember much of what happened?"

She was silent for a long moment before speaking haltingly.

"We went to Black's warehouse… We wanted a warrant, but Carver wouldn't give it to us, so we went back without it. Bobby did what he usually does… He was in Black's face, followed him all over the floor… It was when he started to back off… Black changed… One second he was a wreck, the next… He grabbed Bobby by the wrist… He grabbed him hard, broke it. I heard the bone snap… I think I remember Bobby crying out."

John nodded. That fitted in with the injuries Goren had sustained. Deakins had told him on the quiet that photos had been taken by trained medical staff of finger-shaped bruises around Goren's broken wrist. Black had to have had some phenomenal burst of rage-driven strength to snap the bone in such a way. It was also the only way they could see Black being able to divest Goren of his weapon.

"Black grabbed Bobby's gun," Alex went on softly. "He shot… shot Bobby four times… Then he turned and shot at me. I shot back at him, and I hit him in the arm… I managed to knock Bobby's gun out of his hand. Then he came over to me… Kicked my gun out of my hands… He was going to kill me, then. Beat me to death, I think… But Bobby shot him. He'd dragged himself across the floor to where his gun had fallen. Even with a broken wrist, and four bullet wounds, he still managed to drag himself across the floor, pick up his gun and shoot Black…"

Tears were streaming down her face at the memories. John squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"What happened after that, sweetheart?"

"Black fell next to me… but he got up again. He disappeared… I don't know where he went. I managed to crawl over to Bobby… He was already unconscious by then. I radioed for help… That's all I remember."

"That's good, honey," John murmured, leaning over to kiss his daughter gently on the forehead, at the same time struggling to hold back his own tears. "And you don't have to be afraid. The police are going to find Black. They'll tear New York apart to find him after what he did to you and Bobby."

Alex shut her eyes.

"He saved my life. Black would have killed me if it hadn't been for Bobby. He saved my life, Dad."

"I know," John whispered, stroking her forehead lightly. "And you saved his. If you hadn't found the strength to radio for help, neither of you might have survived."

"If he dies…" she whispered.

"He won't," her brother Philip told her with surety. "Have some faith, sis. You'll both go back to work together, I'm sure of it. Have some faith."

Alex wanted to thank them for their support, but she couldn't find the strength to speak. Fresh tears came in a flood, and in the end, all she could do was cry.

* * *

_A few hours later_

Deakins entered the hospital late that evening, feeling almost light-headed with relief. He had taken a call from Dr Fielding less than an hour ago telling him that the surgery had been a success, and Goren had come through it safely. As a result, his chances of survival had been boosted considerably.

He was still classified as critical and on life-support, and the next seventy-two hours would be touch and go, but Fielding was quietly confident that the real danger had passed. Over the next twenty-four hours, they intended to bring him slowly out of the induced coma so that, hopefully, he could finally start to recover.

There was a catch, though, Fielding had warned him over the phone, and it was a big one. They would not know with absolute certainty whether there had been any nerve damage until after Goren was awake. Only then they would know for sure just how successful the operation had really been.

As skillful as the surgeon was, and as careful as he had been, they all had to accept that there was a strong chance that Bobby Goren could end up permanently confined to a wheelchair.

Deakins refused to contemplate that. He wanted to believe that Goren was past the worst of it, and on his way to a complete recovery, the same as Eames. He wanted to believe that he would have his best team back on the job in no time, back to doing what they did best - bringing in the worst of New York's criminals.

He was almost to the lifts when a loud, angry voice brought him up short.

"Why can't you just tell me where he is? Damn it, do I look like a threat? You've got so many damned cops here, even if I was here to hurt him, I'd be an idiot to try! I'm no fool; I know I'd never make it out of this building alive. But I'm not here to hurt him, I just want to see my brother!"

"I need to see ID, sir," the duty nurse said calmly, unperturbed by the stranger's outburst.

"I showed you my license!" the man exploded. "What else do you want? A birth certificate? Damn it…"

Instinct and a plentiful helping of curiosity drew Deakins over to the man.

"Excuse me, Mr…?"

The man looked around at Deakins, and Deakins immediately saw the family resemblance.

"My name's Frank Goren," the man said in a strained voice. "Bobby Goren is my younger brother. I just flew into New York this afternoon with my family, and I saw on the news about Bobby. I just want to see him, but no one will tell me where he is!"

"I'm Captain James Deakins," Deakins introduced himself. "Detective Goren is under my command. I was aware he had a brother, but I didn't even know your name…"

"Doesn't surprise me," Frank said wearily. "Bobby never did talk openly about family. And we were never exactly close, either. I haven't seen Bobby for nearly nine years, since our father passed away."

"You said you're here with your family?" Deakins asked, and Frank nodded.

"My wife Emily, and our seven year old daughter, Sophie. We came for a holiday, and I was hoping to catch up with Bobby, and spend a bit of time with him. He's never met his niece, you see. I didn't expect to get here to find all of this, though. Captain Deakins, what happened to him?"

Deakins hesitated, then ushered Frank across the floor into a waiting lift.

"Your brother and his partner went to talk to a suspect. That suspect turned violent. He shot your brother, and then he shot his partner, Alex Eames. They're both in ICU at the moment."

"They're going to be all right?"

"Eames is out of danger…"

"But Bobby isn't."

"He just came out of surgery about an hour ago, Mr Goren…"

"Call me Frank, please. I know you guys call each other by your last names. It'll save confusion."

Deakins nodded in acquiescence.

"I'll start from the beginning. Goren was shot four times, at point blank range in the chest and stomach."

"God almighty…"

"The surgeons here got three of those bullets out yesterday morning, when Goren and Eames were brought to the hospital, but one was pushing against his spine. They had to wait for a specialist to arrive from DC before they could attempt to get that fourth bullet out."

"And they did?"

"Yes. It was a dangerous procedure. There was no guarantee that he'd survive it, but he did. Thank God."

Frank was silent for a long moment, staring intently at Deakins before speaking again.

"What else is there, Captain Deakins?"

"They had to remove his spleen. One of the bullets virtually shredded it. Because of that, they've had to keep him isolated to prevent infection. At this stage, any infection would probably kill him."

"Hell… And I suppose they don't know whether that last bullet might have caused any nerve damage or paralysis?"

"Not yet," Deakins confirmed. Frank smiled faintly at the mildly puzzled look on Deakins' face.

"I'm not a doctor myself, Captain, but my wife is. You don't stay married to a doctor for long without getting to know some things. But... I guess the really important thing is that he came through the surgery. Please, is it possible to see him?"

"I can take you to the observation room. That's the closest any of us can get at the moment."

Frank nodded.

"I'd appreciate it. Thankyou."

* * *

They arrived at the observation room to find John Eames there with his brother Marty. John looked questioningly at the stranger with Deakins, and Deakins introduced them quietly.

"John, Marty, this is Frank Goren, Bobby's older brother. Frank, this is John and Marty Eames. John is Alex Eames' father. Marty is her uncle."

The men shook hands, and John spoke wryly.

"You have good timing, Frank."

Frank looked towards the observation window.

"So I hear."

He walked over and looked through the window to his comatose brother. The tears came in a flood, before he could stop them.

"Oh god… Look at him…"

"He's going to be all right," John said quietly. "We're all confident of that."

Frank continued to stare through the window, almost blinded by his tears. The last time he had seen his brother had been almost nine years ago, at the funeral of their father. While not unfriendly, nor had their reunion been exactly jovial. They had gone for a drink together after the funeral, and had ended up sitting next to each other at a bar, neither one knowing what to say or do.

He had never imagined, though, that the next time he saw his brother, it would be within the sterile confines of the ICU in hospital. Abruptly, Frank wanted nothing more than to go into that room, sit down next to the bed and simply hold his little brother's hand.

"How long before he comes out of isolation?"

"We're not sure yet," Deakins answered quietly, Fin's words of warning from earlier ringing distantly in his mind. "He's been in a drug-induced coma since yesterday morning to keep him stable. They'll start to bring him out of it over the next twenty-four hours. Hopefully by then the danger of infection will have passed, and they'll be able to remove the oxygen tent."

"I hope they get rid of that thing before he wakes up," John said tightly. "I know it's been crucial to keeping the environment sterile, but I'd hate for him to have to wake up to that sort of isolation."

"How long are you going to be in New York for?" Marty asked, opting to change the subject.

"We were only planning on being here for five days, but when I saw about Bobby on the news, I extended our booking for an extra two weeks. I contacted the company I work for, and my boss told me I can stay for as long as I need to. Tell me, what happened to the son of a bitch that shot my brother? Do you have him in custody?"

"Not yet," Deakins admitted with reluctance. "It's only a matter of time, though. We know he's injured. Both Alex and Bobby managed to shoot him at least once, so he's not going to be able to stay off the radar for long."

"That, and the fact that every cop in New York is on the lookout for him," John added with grim satisfaction. "If the bastard has any sense, he'll go to his lawyer, and turn himself in."

Frank looked back at Deakins.

"Is there any chance that I'll be allowed to stay here tonight?"

"That could be arranged," Deakins agreed. "But there's really not much point in you staying here tonight. He's not going to wake up before tomorrow. You'd be best to go back to your hotel, try and get a good night's rest and come back tomorrow morning."

Frank sighed faintly.

"I suppose so."

"Let me have your contact details," Deakins told him. "If anything happens, I'll contact you straight away."

Frank nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Emily Goren was waiting in growing anxiety for her husband to return to their hotel room at the Plaza. Far from being a fun, relaxing holiday like they had planned and hoped for, she suspected they were in for a fairly rough ride. It had started upon checking into their room. Frank had been enthusiastic. He planned on taking them to Central Park Zoo the next morning, and then he intended to contact his younger brother, and try to arrange a time to get together.

Emily had only ever met Bobby Goren once, and that was at their father's funeral. She knew the relationship between the two brothers was civil, at best, but she also knew how much Frank really cared for his little brother. He still suffered intense guilt over all that had gone on during their childhood, with their mother's illness and their father's desertion. Frank had been the one to knuckle down and get the good grades, and excel at sport, while it had fallen to Bobby to get a job to try and support the family. It had been Frank who had received what scant attention their father afforded them, while Bobby had been pushed back into the shadows. And while Frank had gone on to college, and a degree in science, Bobby had spent his teen years struggling to balance a desire to fulfil his own dreams and having to stay grounded to support their mother.

From all that she had heard about Bobby from Frank, prior to the funeral, she hadn't really known what to expect. She had been more than a little surprised to be introduced to a man who, by all appearances, was very polite, quiet and shy. She suspected there was a tremendous intelligence behind that reserved personality, but she'd never had the opportunity to find out. She had returned to Connecticut with Frank two days later, and he had rarely spoken about his brother since.

For some unknown reason, though, over the last few months Frank had started talking about his brother again and, finally, began to express a wish to see him again. Finally they had decided on a trip to New York, planning a holiday for them and their young daughter to coincide with a reunion between the two brothers.

Sophie, in particular, had been highly enthused at the prospect of meeting 'Uncle Bobby'. She had a sky-high intellect and an insatiable curiosity for arcane knowledge and unusual facts, something that Frank fondly claimed was very reminiscent of his younger brother.

And so they had arrived in New York and checked into the Plaza Hotel, with their first day already planned out. Frank had just been scrolling the phone books to find his brother's contact details when Sophie had screamed for them from her room.

They ran to see what was wrong, half expecting to find her cowering from a spider, or something similar. Instead, she'd been pointing to the television, tears brimming in her big brown eyes. It had been a news update. Two New York detectives had been shot on duty the previous day while investigating a multiple homicide. Emily and Frank had stood and watched in numb horror as a photo of Frank's little brother Bobby was flashed onto the screen along with one of his partner, Alex Eames.

The two detectives were at St Clare's Hospital, the report said, and were both in critical condition.

Any ideas of dinner were immediately forgotten, and Frank had immediately called the front desk and asked them to summon a cab for him so he could get to St Clare's straight away to see his brother. Now, Emily anxiously awaited either a call from her husband, or his return to the hotel room. She could only hope and pray that they didn't end up attending a funeral.

"Mommy?"

She looked around to see her daughter standing there, watching her with big, questioning eyes.

"Sweetheart, you should be asleep. What are you doing up?"

Sophie Goren walked around and sat down on the sofa next to her mother.

"I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about Uncle Bobby. Why would someone want to hurt him like that?"

"I don't know, baby. I wish I did. I'm sure he didn't do anything to deserve it."

"Do you think he's going to die?"

"I hope not."

"Me, too."

The door of the suite suddenly opened, and Frank walked in, looking thoroughly exhausted. Emily and Sophie watched him with open fear. He stopped, took in their expressions, and then spoke gently.

"It's okay. He's still alive. The kid's a fighter."

Emily breathed a long sigh of relief. Frank poured himself a drink, and then joined them on the sofa.

"He's in a pretty bad way, though. He was shot four times, and one of the bullets was pressing against his spine. They'd just finished operating to take it out when I got there tonight. He survived the operation, but they don't know yet whether there's any permanent nerve damage. They won't know until he wakes up."

"And when will that be?" Emily asked softly.

"Hopefully in the next twenty-four hours. I was told he'd been placed in an induced coma to keep him stable until they could operate. Now that they've got that last bullet out, they're going to start gradually waking him up."

"Did you want to be there?" Emily asked. "At the hospital, I mean…"

"Yes, but the truth is it's not going to matter much either way at the moment. Even if he does wake up in the next few hours, I can't be with him. Not properly. He's in isolation to keep him from picking up any infections."

"Do you think he'll pull through?" Emily asked softly. Frank contemplated that for a long moment in silence.

"I don't know, he admitted finally. "From what I was able to find out, it's going to be touch and go for a while yet, and if he picks up any infections, it could be disastrous. We can only hope and pray, Em. Can't do much more than that for now."

* * *

Dylan Black had gone to ground very quickly after taking out the two cops in his warehouse. Despite two bullet wounds of his own, he'd dared not go to any clinics or hospitals. He knew damned well that as soon as he set foot anywhere in public, he'd probably end up with about fifty cop bullets pumped into his body. Though he hadn't killed either of those cops outright (he had a small radio with him and had been listening intently to all news updates), he knew they were both in a pretty bad way.

Not that he felt the slightest bit guilty about _that_. Hell, no. They'd deserved what he'd dished out to them, especially that arrogant, know-it-all, in-your-face asshole. And as for his bitch partner…? He would have finished her off for sure, except the asshole hadn't been out for the count like he should have been.

Black shuddered a little, and winced at the fiery pain in his shoulder as he tried to move into a more comfortable position. The bullets were gone, removed by a buddy of his who had gotten himself a medical degree of some sort in some pissy little country that he couldn't pronounce the name of. He didn't know how good a job his buddy had done, and he didn't really care, either. All he cared about was that the bullets were gone. Beyond that, he could deal.

Taking a swig from a water bottle that his buddy had left behind for him, which contained something considerably stronger than water, he reached over and switched the radio back on, just in time to catch an update on the very subject that interested him the most.

'…_manhunt is continuing for the individual believed responsible for gunning down two New York City detectives two days ago in a Manhattan warehouse. Descriptions have been circulated state-wide for a man that is wanted for questioning by police in regards to the shooting_…'

"Questioning," Black muttered, uttering a short laugh. "Yeah, right."

'…_In related news, at an earlier Press conference, Captain James Deakins of the Major Case Squad reported that Detective Robert Goren's condition has stabilised sufficiently for him to be brought out of isolation_…'

Black snapped off the radio and sank back into his chair.

So the asshole was going to live. The asshole and the bitch were both going to live. He'd pumped four bullets into that son of a bitch, and it still wasn't enough to bring him down permanently!

Black stared at the floor, seething. The asshole and bitch were both going to live, where he was likely to be fatally shot the instant any cop in the state of New York laid eyes on him. He was a dead man, he was positive of that. A fucking walking dead man.

Okay, if he was a dead man, then he had nothing to lose. He would do one last thing before death claimed him, and that was to finish what he'd started. He was going to kill Detective Goren and Detective Eames, and this time he wasn't going to fuck it up.

* * *

_tbc_...


	3. Contemplation

Fin wandered slowly down the hospital corridor in search of a cup of coffee to try and ward off the foul mood that had descended on him. Some hours ago… He wasn't sure precisely when… Bobby had been moved out of isolation into a regular room in Critical Care. When he'd tried to get in to see him, though, he'd been stopped cold by the formidable nurse on the duty desk. Family only, he'd been told in no uncertain terms. He had started to protest that Bobby had no family to be there, only to be told that Bobby's brother was with him.

Any relief Fin had felt at knowing Bobby had made it past another hurdle sank faster than the Titanic upon hearing that. He'd made a last, fairly feeble protest before wandering off to resume the seemingly endless task of waiting. He knew now that his chances of being able to spend some time sitting with his friend had gone from slim to remote, at least while Frank Goren was around.

He rounded the corner, and slowed to a halt as he realised he'd managed to do a complete circuit and end up right back outside the Critical Care wing. Groaning softly, Fin gave in to what seemed to be inescapable fate, and dropped into an uncomfortable plastic chair to wait it out.

"Are you a detective like my uncle?"

Fin looked around, and was mildly surprised to find himself staring into the dark brown eyes of a little girl who was, in turn, watching him with a very familiar penetrating gaze.

"My uncle is in there," the little girl went on solemnly, pointing to the doors that led into Critical Care.

"What's your name, kid?" Fin asked.

"Sophie Goren."

The penny dropped. This had to be Frank's little girl. He vaguely recalled Bobby mentioning that he had a niece that he'd never met.

"I'm Detective Tutuola," he confirmed. Sophie continued to stare thoughtfully at him.

"Can I see your badge?"

Fin smiled a little and relented, taking his badge out and showing it to her. The little girl studied it intently for a long moment, then smiled and sat back in her seat.

"Thankyou."

"Your dad's in there at the moment?" Fin asked.

"Yes. So is Mom. I had to wait out here. I wanted to go and see Uncle Bobby too, but the nurse inside said I might have germs on me, and it might make Uncle Bobby sick again." She looked up dolefully at Fin. "And I had a proper bath this morning, and everything. It's not fair."

Fin hesitated, thinking back to how frightening it had been to see Bobby in such a terrible condition. Regardless of the reasons, he felt it was a good thing the little girl had not been allowed in to see her uncle. She would have had nightmares for a month.

"Detective Tu… Tutu…"

"Just call me Fin," he told her, fighting back a smile at her embarrassment.

"Are you sure that's okay?" she asked uncertainly. "It's just, my daddy said I should never call a grown-up by their first name."

"Did your daddy ever tell you that you should do what the police say?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I'm a police officer, and I'm telling you to call me Fin. Okay?"

Sophie smiled sheepishly.

"Okay… Fin. Are you a friend of Uncle Bobby?"

Fin stared down at the floor.

"Yes, I am."

Sophie breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. I'm glad you're not like that other policeman. I didn't like him."

Alarms instantly went off inside Fin's head.

"What other policeman?"

"He came past here a little while ago. He met a lady who was coming out of there. He said… He asked if the freakshow had had many visitors… But I didn't like the way he said it, and I didn't like him calling Uncle Bobby names."

Fin drew in a long, steadying breath.

"What did he look like Sophie?"

"He was kind of tall… thin… He didn't have much hair."

"Elliot…" Fin growled softly.

"Why did he call Uncle Bobby a freakshow?" Sophie asked softly. Fin's angry expression softened as he looked down at her.

"He was just jealous, because your uncle is a lot smarter than he'll ever be."

Sophie's expression turned thoughtful.

"Daddy said that's why I get teased so much at school, because I'm a lot smarter than all the other kids. It still hurts, though."

Fin was just considering how to respond to that when the door opposite them swung open and Frank Goren came out. Sophie jumped up immediately, all but leaping into his arms.

"Daddy, did you see him? Is he okay? Did he wake up? Can I go see him yet?"

"Easy, pumpkin," Frank murmured, hugging the little girl to him. "One question at a time, okay? Yes, I saw him. Your mother's still in there with him. We hope he'll be okay, but we just don't know for sure yet. No, he hasn't woken up yet, and no, I'm afraid you can't see him just yet. I came out to see if you wanted to get something to eat."

"No, I'm okay. I've been talking to Fin here."

Frank looked around, seeing the other man for the first time. Fin didn't bother to get up, continuing to watch Frank through a narrow gaze.

"Fin…" Frank said softly. "Why is that familiar?"

Fin did stand up then, drawing himself up to his full height so that Frank didn't tower over him.

"I'm Detective Tutuola."

Recognition lit up Frank's eyes.

"Odafin… Well… I haven't seen you since we were teenagers. Boy, it's been a long time."

"You know each other?" Sophie asked, sounding disturbingly like an adult. Frank smiled faintly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Fin wasn't.

"Fin… I mean, Detective Tutuola was our neighbour when your Uncle Bobby and I were kids. He and your uncle were pretty much best friends."

"Still are," Fin said firmly. Frank nodded.

"That's great to hear. I, ah… I suppose you're probably wondering why I'm here."

"Ain't none of my business," Fin said. Frank's gaze narrowed just fractionally as, for the first time, he picked up on the mistrust in the other man's voice. A moment later, he brushed it aside.

"Have you seen Bobby yet?"

"Just from the observation room, when he was in isolation," Fin answered guardedly. Frank nodded, and set Sophie back down.

"Sophie, sweetie, can you wait here for just a little longer? I'm going to take Detective Tutuola in to see your uncle."

Sophie nodded and sat back down, trying hard to conceal her disappointment at being left out again.

"The duty nurse wouldn't let me in before," Fin said, frowning a little. Frank shrugged as he led the way into the Critical Care ward

"You're Bobby's best friend. You should be allowed to be in there with him. C'mon, I'll get you past that old Trojan."

Still Fin hesitated, not quite sure how to take the offer. He had honestly not expected to be allowed anywhere near Bobby while Frank was around.

"Thanks," he mumbled finally, grudgingly, as Frank led him into Critical Care. Almost immediately, they were confronted by the duty nurse, a young woman with what Fin silently thought of as a 'take-no-prisoners' attitude.

"Detective, I told you before, you cannot come in yet! We have these rules for a reason, and if you can't abide by them, then I'll have to ask you to leave the hospital altogether."

"He's with me," Frank stated firmly. "I'm taking him in to see Bobby."

The nurse opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off by Frank.

"I was told that as soon as he was moved out of isolation and into ICU, it would be my decision who was allowed in to visit him, and I want Detective Tutuola in there. Now please, don't make me take this to your supervisor."

The nurse backed down with obvious reluctance, stepping out of the way to allow the men through. Frank nodded curtly at her, and led Fin past.

"Look," Frank said quietly as they came to a halt outside a nearby room, "I know you're probably suspicious about me being here. I don't blame you for that. I know I've caused a lot of problems for Bobby in the past, but I swear I don't have any ulterior motives. I came to catch up with him, and so he could meet Sophie. That's it."

Fin returned Frank's pleading expression with a stony look of his own.

"Like I said," the SVU detective answered tonelessly, "ain't none of my business."

Frank grimaced at the all-too-clear dismissal in Fin's tone before turning and leading the way silently into Bobby's room.

* * *

Seeing Bobby through the observation window whilst he had still been in isolation was no preparation for the shock Fin experienced as he walked into the room to be confronted by the sight of his wounded friend. Oblivious to everything and everyone else, Fin made his way over to the bedside, and gazed down at Bobby, his breath catching in his throat as he struggled against the sudden threat of tears.

While much of the equipment that had been keeping him alive was now gone, a small number vital machines remained. He was still on life support, and there was a tube down his throat to assist him with breathing. There was an IV drip attached to each arm – one steadily pumping precious, life-giving blood back into his body, and the other supplying the nutrients that kept Bobby's body from dehydrating.

"It's a shock to the system," Frank said quietly a few minutes later, startling Fin out of his trance-like state. "I don't think I've ever seen him this still in my whole damn life."

Fin drew in a shuddering breath.

"I thought he didn't need that," he said shakily, nodding at the breathing tube.

"Initially he didn't," Frank agreed. "But one of his lungs partially collapsed during the surgery to remove that bullet. It's not irreversible damage, but the tube just takes away the pressure of his body fighting to do those simple things that we take for granted… like breathing. It'll come out when he wakes up."

Fin glanced back at Frank.

"And when will that be?"

"They don't know," Frank answered, his gaze focused entirely on his brother. "It might be hours, or days. That's up to Bobby."

Fin returned his attention to Bobby, and reached out tentatively to touch his friend's arm. His skin was cool to the touch, though Fin guessed that was more because of the air conditioning, rather than Bobby's condition.

Behind him, Emily caught her husband's hand, and gently urged him towards the door. Frank nodded his compliance, and spoke quietly to Fin.

"We're going to take Sophie and go and get something to eat. It would be good if you could stay here with Bobby… at least until we get back."

Fin looked back at Frank, unable to hide his gratitude any longer.

"Thanks, Frank."

Frank smiled tiredly.

"It's okay. I'm just glad Bobby has a good friend like you on his side. C'mon, Em."

Fin watched them go, then pulled a chair over and sat down next to his best friend.

"I would've never thought it was possible," he said softly, shaking his head. "Frank's on the scene, and he's _not_ acting like an asshole."

He paused, staring at Bobby's passive, unresponsive features and feeling that unpleasant chill deep in his gut once more.

"You gotta be okay, man," he whispered, his voice coming dangerously close to cracking. "You hear me, Bobby? Don't you die on me. Don't you dare die on me! Hang in there, please… You've got a gorgeous niece out there, hanging out to meet her uncle… and you do not want to miss your brother's miraculous change of attitude." Fin chuckled, but it sounded harsh, and forced, even to his own ears. He went on tremulously, finding it almost painful in his efforts to control his emotions. "There's a heap of people waiting for you to wake up, pal. You don't wanna disappoint us. And your partner… Man, has she got some spunk. You're a lucky guy, you know that? She's gonna be okay, so you'd better be okay, too. You _really_ don't want to disappoint her, do you?"

Fin paused, watching Bobby in vague hope, but there was no response from the man lying in the hospital bed. The only sounds that met Fin's pleas were the steady beeps of the life support machines that were keeping Bobby alive.

Slumping a little in his seat, Fin wiped miserably at his eyes.

"You've gotta live, Bobby," he whispered helplessly. "You've gotta…"

* * *

Alex lay with her eyes shut, trying to keep her breathing as slow and even as she could and keeping as still as possible. Her performance had less to do with the fact that she had her father, her Uncle Marty and Aunt Sarah, and Jaime, her brother Philip's wife, hovering over her than with the need to keep still for fear that her head would fall off if she didn't.

Even though none of the bullets she'd been struck with had come anywhere near her head, and Black certainly hadn't gotten a chance to physically lay into her, her head was still spinning as though someone had kicked it… or as though she was suffering a massive hangover. It was, she supposed, an unfortunate consequence of the pain killers and other drugs currently in her system, and without which she would probably be in more pain than was currently within her capabilities to imagine.

She withheld a groan with some effort. Unimaginable pain, or vertigo and nausea. What a choice to have.

And so she continued to lie quietly, deciding the dizziness and queasiness was easier to control than the pain. To try and take her mind off all of it, she focused on the quiet conversation going on around her.

"…keep saying that, but look at her! She was shot three times, Marty!"

That was Aunt Sarah, Alex thought ruefully. Out of all the cop's wives in her family, she was the only one who had never quite learnt to cope with the constant uncertainty. When her husband had been on active duty, she had lived in absolute terror of a phone call, or a knock on the door telling her that he had been injured, or killed. Now that Marty was retired, her fear seemed to have transferred to those members of the family who still worked on the job. Namely, herself.

Poor Aunt Sarah had never quite recovered from the fact that her favourite niece had gone from being Queen of the Prom, and the dream date of every eligible boy in the district, to a gun-toting, hard-talking cop, just like her father.

"Keep your voice down, Sarah. She doesn't need to wake up to hear your hysteria."

"Hysteria? Well, excuse me for caring! Someone has to, since that giant ape of a partner of hers doesn't seem to."

Alex went cold, barely able to believe one of her family had just referred to Bobby is such a cruel way. She stayed frozen, waiting for her father and uncle to rebuke Sarah. To her great relief, they didn't disappoint her.

"Don't you dare talk about Bobby like that, Sarah!" John hissed angrily. "Not to me, and not in front of Alex! Damn it, he saved her life!"

"If it weren't for him," Sarah said harshly, "this would never have happened in the first place! You know that it's true!"

"Would you keep your voice down?" John growled. Sarah glowered at him.

"John, that man was a disaster waiting to happen! And you're no better! This is just as much your fault. You should never have allowed her to go to the police academy…"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sarah," Marty growled. "Lay off, would you? John could hardly stop her. She's an adult, after all. What was he supposed to do, keep her under lock and key?"

"Can we please have this argument somewhere else?" Jaime whispered anxiously. "We're going to wake her up!"

Sarah ignored Jaime, and focused her growing anger on her husband.

"What he _could_ have done, Marty, was at least try to talk her out of it! But no, he was actually proud that she was following in his footsteps! It wasn't enough to have Philip risking life and limb with the NYFD, he had to have little Alexandra out there on the streets with a gun!"

It was all Alex could do not to grin at her aunt's analogy of 'little Alexandra with a gun'. She imagined Sarah probably had a distinct image in her mind of a ten year-old tomboy Alex, playing Cops & Robbers with her little brother Philip.

"Yes, I was proud of her," John argued as loudly as he dared. "I still am. I'm damned proud of her. And I'm proud of Bobby, too."

Alex felt a burst of warmth flood her body at her father's vocal defence of Bobby.

"You're proud of him?" Sarah echoed in disgust. "For what, getting your daughter shot?"

"Bobby didn't pull the trigger, Sarah. What he did do was get his gun back and shoot that son of a bitch to keep him from killing Alex, _after_ he'd taken four bullets himself. He did everything in his power to protect Alex, and I'll always be grateful to him for that. So for the last time, don't you dare go mouthing off about him in front of me. Do you understand me, Sarah?"

"But look at her!" Sarah burst out, the volume of her voice rising rapidly. "Look at your daughter, John! She was such a beautiful thing in high school, and now…"

"What?" Marty growled. "And now what, Sarah?"

"The poor thing will be scarred for life, now!" Sarah finished off. "What man is going to want a thirty-something woman with bullet scars all over her? And it's all the fault of that partner of hers!"

"I told you to stop, Sarah," John said angrily. "You leave Bobby out of it. You have no right to be standing in judgement over him!"

Sarah looked at him in disgust.

"I can't believe you're defending him," Sarah choked out.

"Bobby is a good, kind, sweet man, Aunt Sarah," Jaime cut in firmly. "I've only met him twice, and even I know that."

"Jaime, stay out of this," Sarah warned her, but Jaime brushed off the warning, and Alex had to fight off a smirk. It was a real free-for-all now that Jaime had entered the fray, and Alex had to concede that she was enjoying listening to her father, uncle and sister in-law defending her partner so vigorously.

"I will not stay out of it," Jaime snapped. "I will not stand by and do nothing while you run down someone who does not deserve it! For God's sake, Aunt Sarah, he's only a few rooms away, still on life support! They don't even know for sure yet whether he's going to live, and you're standing here calling him names! Stop it! Stop behaving like the family matriarch, because God knows, you're not."

Alex felt a second, ice-cold wave engulf her at Jaime's words, effectively washing away the warmth of their heartfelt defence of her partner. Life support… Bobby was still on life support… still fighting for his life…

She opened her eyes finally just as Sarah spoke again.

"Well, if you ask me, I think it would be better for everyone involved if they just turn off the machines, and let him die. Alexandra would certainly be better off without him, I guarantee it."

Marty shook his head in disgust and anger, but any retort he'd planned on making was lost as he glanced down and saw Alex staring up at them, her brown eyes full of anger.

"Alex…" he stammered, "you're awake…"

In an instant, Sarah was all sugar and spice, leaning over and grasping her hand.

"Alex, sweetheart, how are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?"

Alex stared back up at her, the anger all too visible on her face.

"You can get out."

Sarah blanched at the blunt reply.

"Alexandra, honey…"

"Don't," Alex snapped, her voice filled with a level of acrimony that surprised even her. "I heard everything you said about Bobby. How dare you? What gives you the right to stand in judgement over him?"

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but Alex looked away, even as the tears filled her eyes and over-flowed.

"Just go. Get out. And don't come back until you're ready to stop bad-mouthing my partner."

Squaring her jaw and puffing her breath out sharply, Sarah wheeled around and stalked out of the room. Marty watched her go, then leaned over to kiss his niece gently on the side of her head.

"I'm sorry about that, Alex. I promise I'll have a good, long talk with her tonight."

Then he hurried out after his wife.

"She didn't mean to hurt you, Alex," John said quietly after a minute's silence. "Sarah has a good heart… She just doesn't have much in the way of tact."

"None of what happened was Bobby's fault," Alex whispered miserably. "But he'll think it was… It's not his fault, but he'll blame himself."

"Then it'll be up to us to convince him that he isn't to blame," John reassured her.

"How," Alex choked out, "does she think it will be better for me if Bobby dies?"

"That was a damned stupid thing to say," John agreed. "And it's definitely not true."

Alex looked from her father to Jaime.

"Bobby's really still on life support?"

Jaime glanced worriedly at John, and then nodded reluctantly.

"Yes, hon. I spoke to his brother a while ago. He said it's still very much touch and go. We could still lose him."

Somewhere, in a distant corner of Alex's mind, it occurred to Alex that Jaime had said 'we', not 'you'. It registered in her tired mind, and some of that deep-set pain in her heart eased off, just a little.

"He can't die," she whispered, suddenly blinded by a flood of tears. "He… He just can't!"

"We're all praying for him, love," John murmured. "It's all we can do."

Alex shut her eyes tightly, but it did nothing to stem the flow of tears. Never before had she ever felt so completely helpless, and she hated it with every fibre of her being.

She was sure, if she could only find a way to get out of her own hospital bed, that if she were to be with Bobby… that if she could just touch him, and let him know she was there and that she was all right, then somehow he would be all right as well. It was a ludicrous thought, and she knew it, but nor could she stop herself from believing in it.

"He's my best friend," Alex choked out in between shaking sobs. "I… I can't lose him…"

"I know," John murmured as he sat carefully on the edge of the hospital bed and drew his daughter into a protective embrace. "But remember what Philip said before, sweetheart. Bobby's a fighter. He's come this far. How about we all show a little bit of faith in him, hmm?"

Alex nodded once, comforted by the feel of her father's arms holding her close. Yes, she thought as she cuddled in against him, able just briefly to ignore the burning pain of her injuries. Yes, she could do that.

Silence fell for a while as Alex relaxed in her father's embrace, trying to let her mind go blank. She couldn't stop her mind from going over her aunt's callous words, though. As heartening as the support of her father, uncle and sister in-law had been, it still stung that Sarah had had such cruel things to say about Bobby.

Slowly, the conversation replayed in her head, her exhausted mind giving each harsh remark even more venom and viciousness than even her aunt had been able to put into them. Then, abruptly, Jaime's words came back to her.

_I spoke to his brother_…

Alex looked quickly at Jaime as comprehension suddenly sank in.

"Did you say Bobby's _brother_ is here?"

"Yes…" Jaime confirmed. "Oh… damn, I can't remember his name."

"Frank," Alex said, and John regarded her curiously.

"You knew he had a brother?"

"Sure, I knew about Frank. I also know they've only laid eyes on each other once since their father's funeral nearly nine years ago. Frank was a gambling addict. He came to Bobby a few times, begging for help to get him out of whatever hole he'd dug for himself. The last time… I think it was maybe six months after their father died… Bobby was still with Narcotics... I was just at the end of my stint with Vice… Frank came to see Bobby on the quiet… When Bobby told me about it, he said that that Frank had spun his wife some story about having to go to a conference, or something. Anyway, he begged Bobby for help to get the loan sharks off his back. Bobby refused to help, and Frank lost it… Bobby ended up in the hospital after Frank beat the crap out of him in a rage. If Frank is here now, it can't be for anything good."

Jaime frowned at the revelation.

"He seemed so nice, though. And his wife, too…"

Alex sighed softly. "Maybe he's genuine. But I doubt it. Bobby won't be too happy to have him here, either. Even if he doesn't have an ulterior motive…"

John looked thoughtful.

"Well, he seemed genuine enough the other night when he arrived. He sure as hell wasn't faking the tears when he saw Bobby in the isolation room."

Alex shut her eyes. She was too tired, and in too much pain and discomfort to try and analyse Frank Goren's possible motives for turning up now, of all times. John shifted, and gently helped her to lay down in the bed.

"All right, sweetheart. Just shut your eyes and rest."

"Mm," Alex mumbled. "Rest sounds good."

John stroked her forehead lightly, soothingly.

"That's it. Close your eyes and get some sleep. Just sleep…"

It wasn't a difficult directive for Alex to follow, and as she slipped back into the peaceful, painlessness of sleep, her exhausted mind whispered a soft, desperate prayer for her wounded partner.

* * *

_tbc..._


	4. Downgraded

_A/N: _This is veritable proof – miracles do happen. I was ready to consign this story to the scrap heap. It was going nowhere, and proving to be a real white elephant. Then, just as I was psyching myself up to hit 'delete', the muse struck. I had sudden inspiration for where to take this story, and subsequently I've decided to give it another chance.

Yes, more Bobby-whompage is on the way.

As a matter of note, I have made a series of minor changes through the story. Specifically, I've changed the name of Bobby's brother from Richie to Frank, in order to fall in line with the show's canon. Secondly, I've re-written a discussion that takes place between John Eames and Jimmy Deakins – I believe, at the end of the first chapter. They discuss Bobby and Alex's initial time together as partners. The original discussion placed Bobby in Major Case ahead of Alex. The changed version doesn't actually specify which of them was there first, but I think more clearly indicates Alex as being the more senior detective. It's not vital to the story – I just prefer it.

So here we go. Chapter 4, after a long, loooooooooooooooooooooooong wait…

* * *

_36 hours later_

Jimmy Deakins arrived at the ward with a nauseating mixture of relief and unhappiness. The relief he was experiencing was for Alex, who had been moved out of ICU just that morning, and into a regular ward. Though she was yet to undergo the reconstructive surgery that she needed on her shoulder and knee, she was well out of the woods – well out of danger. Her doctor was confident that she would make a full recovery, and that was welcome news to Deakins' tired ears.

Bobby, however, was another matter.

The big detective was now Deakins' prime source of concern and unhappiness. He seemed to be trapped in limbo – currently stable, but at the same time showing no sign of waking up. That in itself was a growing concern. He knew that it was well past the time now when his doctor had expected him to start showing signs of awareness, but so far there was nothing.

Bobby remained comatose – unresponsive and unaware. It was unnatural, and frightening, and Deakins had received very little in reassurance from Dr Fielding when he'd spoken to him last night. The bottom line, Fielding had confessed reluctantly, was that the longer Bobby remained comatose, the worse his chances were of waking up.

He'd been in to visit Bobby the previous evening, after speaking with Fielding. Bobby's brother Frank had been there, along with Fin Tutuola. Though he could sense the animosity between that was festering between the two men, it was also clear that they were operating under some sort of uneasy truce.

Deakins was quietly relieved. He wanted to believe that Frank was genuine in his concern for Bobby, but it wasn't going to matter either way if he and Fin were at each other's throats. Deakins was relieved for Bobby's sake that they had been able to set aside their differences, at least for the time being.

His reason for calling into the hospital that morning, though, was not to see Bobby – although, he would call up to the ICU before heading on to One Police Plaza. No, this morning he'd come particularly to see Alex.

He rounded the corner, and was brought to an abrupt halt by the sounds of angry, frustrated shouts coming from within Alex's hospital room. He paused, his gaze going to John Eames, who was waiting outside the room with what looked like a cold cup of coffee in his hand, and an exasperated look on his face.

"John?" Deakins asked as he walked slowly over to join the retired cop. "What's going on? Is Alex okay?"

It was a ludicrous question, and it came out sounding ludicrous, but fortunately John seemed to understand what he meant without needing it spelt out. He nodded in answer.

"Oh, she's okay, Jimmy. Just extraordinarily pissed off."

"Dare I ask why?"

"She wants to go and see Bobby in ICU. She's convinced that the reason he's still in a coma is because she's not up there with him. The problem is that her doctor stated categorically that she's not leaving that bed until after she's had the reconstructive surgery on her shoulder and her knee, and she's not due to have _that_ for another couple of days. As for me, I'm out here because I made the mistake of agreeing with the doctor."

"And she shouted you out?"

John grimaced.

"Mm, something like that. I can see her point of view, and I know I'd feel the same way if I were in her position. I'd be wanting to see my partner, too. But I can't help thinking that she's forgotten just how badly she was hurt. If she tries extending herself too far, it's only going to set her back, and that won't help Bobby at all."

Deakins nodded in wordless agreement, looking thoughtfully towards the closed door, through which he could make out Alex's angry voice. He could understand her point of view, no matter how illogical it seemed, and he wondered whether it might really be to Bobby's benefit to let Alex spend some time with him in ICU. If nothing else, it would be to Alex's benefit, he mused.

"What are you thinking, Jim?" John asked softly. Deakins smiled knowingly.

"I'm thinking that maybe I'll go in and suggest a compromise."

* * *

The sight that Deakins was met with as he walked into the room was as amusing as it was heart-breaking. Alex was glaring furiously at her doctor, but beyond her anger Deakins could see the grief and fear she was suffering over Bobby's fate. It was tearing her apart to be separated from him, particularly when she knew how bad a condition he was still in.

She looked around as he walked in, and it was all he could do not to cringe at the raw desperation, fear and borderline panic that were reflected in her pale features. Those were all unnatural states for Alex Eames, and Deakins found himself desperate to take any steps that would see her completely free from them.

"Captain! Can you please talk to this idiot, and tell him that I have to see Bobby?"

Deakins threw her a stern look. As much as he understood her feelings, he was not going to tolerate her being in any way abusive to the person who had saved her life.

"Detective, this… _idiot_, as you so eloquently put it, saved your life. I suggest you show a bit more respect, if you hope to have any leverage for negotiation."

Dr Danny Thomas frowned at Deakins, unappreciative of his choice of words.

"There's nothing to negotiate, Captain Deakins," he said in a warning tone. "Alex is not leaving this bed, and that's final. In fact, she won't be leaving it for anywhere up to a week after she's had the reconstructive surgery that she needs. And until she can get out of bed, and into a wheelchair, she won't be going anywhere, let alone ICU. I'm sorry, but that is simply not negotiable."

Alex opened her mouth, ready to protest furiously, only to scowl sullenly and clamp her jaw shut when Deakins shot her a warning glare.

"Fair enough, Dr Thomas," Deakins acquiesced. "I understand. But I wonder if you might be willing to consider a compromise?"

Suspicion filled Thomas' face, and he peered at Deakins critically.

"Compromise?"

Deakins nodded, resisting the urge to grin for fear it would seem he was insincere.

"Yes. A compromise."

Thomas looked from the captain to his patient, and then back to Deakins. He didn't want to hand an easy victory to his rather recalcitrant patient, but at the same time he could clearly see how much it was hurting her to be separated from her partner. Her pain at not being able to see him with her own eyes was so acute that he could almost feel it himself, and he would have had to have been a moron not to know how detrimental it was to her, and to her recovery. Thomas knew, with absolute certainty, what an impediment it would be to her recuperation if a solution could not be found.

So, he reasoned in his own mind, if her captain was offering a rational compromise, then surely it would be to everyone's benefit to make it work.

"All right," he conceded finally, and tried to ignore the way that Alex's face lit up. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

A thick, uncomfortable silence had long since descended between Fin and Frank. To begin with, Frank had tried to make light conversation in an effort to ease the almost palpable tension, but was soon discouraged when all he could get in response from the SVU detective were monosyllabic grunts. Now, they sat on either side of Bobby's bed, facing off like opposing war parties at a peace talk, with Bobby as the neutral territory that was all that kept them from breaking out into outright war.

Every so often, one man would glance up at the other, but not a word was spoken between them except for the occasional encouraging murmur to the man who lay comatose between them.

Neither was prepared, therefore, when the door of Bobby's room suddenly swung open, and orderlies appeared, guiding along an occupied hospital bed.

"What on earth is this?" Frank exclaimed, startled and perhaps just a little resentful of the unexpected interruption. Fin, however, instantly realised what was going on when he recognised who was in the bed. Getting up, he moved both himself and his chair away to make room for the gurney to fit in beside Bobby's bedside.

"Alex, how're you doing?"

"I'm going to be okay, Fin," she murmured. "I was lucky."

He offered her as sincere a smile as he could manage.

"And you finally talked them into letting you come up to see Bobby, huh?"

"Actually," she admitted sheepishly, "Captain Deakins did the talking. They wouldn't listen to me. This…" She indicated the hospital bed with the hand that wasn't currently immobilised. "This was the only way my doctor would let me come up here."

"Hey, whatever works," Fin said with fresh enthusiasm. He looked around at Bobby's still form, and spoke cheerfully, ignoring the frown that he thought he saw on Frank's face. "Bobby, look who's here, buddy!"

Alex strained to look around at her injured partner as her bed was manoeuvred fully into the room, but she was unable to get a clear look at him until they'd manoeuvred her bed right up next to his. When she finally laid eyes on his still, pale form, it was all she could do not to cry.

"Oh god… Bobby…"

"He's still fighting, Alex," Fin told her softly.

She barely heard him, though, with her attention focused exclusively on her comatose partner. Ignoring the protests from those around her, Alex pushed herself up with some difficulty, and stretched her uninjured arm out to try and make physical contact with him. She couldn't quite reach him, though, and a distressed whimper escaped her lips.

"Hang on," one of the orderlies said, stepping in and lowering the bed until Alex was able to close her hand over Bobby's arm. As her hand came into contact with warm flesh, she realised that yes, he was indeed still alive, and the tears came in a flood.

"Bobby, you have to wake up," she begged him. "Please, wake up." She hesitated, as though expecting a response, but there was none. He remained still and silent, locked away within his mind and body. She tried again, desperate to keep her voice even and steady. "I'm going to be okay, Bobby. Just… Just scratches. So, you'd better be okay, too. Because if you're not, I swear to God, I'll follow you and I will kick your ass so hard… Do you hear me, Goren? Wake up, goddamn you!"

As she spoke, her voice rose steadily in volume until she was one step shy of shouting at him. When she'd finished speaking, an awkward silence fell, until Frank suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and let out a surprised yelp. All eyes turned to him, and he returned their stares with a baffled one of his own.

"Um… This is going to sound like something out of one of those ridiculous soap operas, but Bobby just squeezed my hand."

"Keep talking to him, Alex," Deakins encouraged her, feeling a sudden surge of hope. She didn't need to be told twice.

"Bobby Goren, don't you dare give up on me. I've just gotten used to you, and if you make me have to break in a new partner, I swear to God you'll never hear the end of it." She hesitated again, and then tightened her grip fractionally on his arm, as if the physical contact alone would be enough to bring him out of the coma, and back to her. When she spoke again, it was in a broken, grief-riddled voice. "Bobby, don't you leave me behind. Don't you make me bury you. I swear, I'll never forgive you if you do."

"He did it again!" Frank exclaimed, the excitement suddenly obvious in his voice. Alex stretched out further, and was just able to brush her fingertips against his cheek.

"Please, Bobby," she begged him. "It's time to wake up."

Minutes passed, and Bobby's fingers tightened around his brother's hand three more times, each time clearly in response to Alex's voice, proving it was not a fluke, or a muscle twitch.

By the time Dr Fielding arrived, signalling the end of Alex's visit with her partner, Bobby's vital stats had very gradually begun to rise.

"Well," Fielding said with a smile as the orderlies prepared to take Alex back to her own room. "If I'd known you'd have this effect on him, I would have had you brought up to him as soon as he came out of isolation."

"Can I come up again tomorrow?" she asked hopefully, and Fielding nodded, much to her relief and delight.

"We'll need to clear it with your doctor, but it's fine by me. Obviously it's doing you both a world of good."

The relief on Alex's face spoke in volumes, and she looked back at Bobby anxiously.

"I have to go back to my own room now, Bobby, but I'll be back again tomorrow. I promise I'll be back, and I'm going to keep giving you a verbal ass-kicking until you wake up. You got that, partner?"

Frank laughed softly.

"He got it all right. He just squeezed my hand again."

Fin leaned over to kiss Alex lightly on the forehead.

"You go and have a good night's sleep, girl. He's heard your voice now. He's going to be okay."

She smiled gratefully at him, and then she was gone, taken out again by the orderlies. Deakins hesitated in following, look quizzically to Fielding as the doctor began to record details on Bobby's chart.

"Doctor Fielding…?"

Fielding looked around at Deakins, and then smiled reassuringly at him as the mixture of hope and concern in the captain's eyes registered with him.

"There's a definite improvement, Captain Deakins. It's not huge, but it is still an improvement. I wouldn't recommend celebrating just yet, but I think I can safely say there's a good reason to hope."

Deakins let his breath out in a rush. In the time since Bobby and Alex had been brought to the hospital after the shooting, the one word that he hadn't heard being used in connection to Bobby was 'hope'. To hear it now, and directly from the doctor, was a huge weight off his mind. When Fielding spoke again, it was to urge quiet caution.

"He's not out of the woods yet, Captain. Not by a long shot, and there is still the issue of him waking up. The fact that he clearly responded to Alex is encouraging, but I'm not going to relax until he's awake and responsive."

"So, what do we do?" Frank spoke up, from where he still sat at his brother's side.

Fielding glanced around at him as he replied.

"Right now, I suspect that the best thing we can do for Bobby is to make sure that Alex is brought back up here tomorrow. He definitely responded to her voice, and I don't want to see that bit of ground lost." He paused, smiling faintly at Deakins. "That was your idea, bringing her up here, bed and all?"

Deakins felt inexplicably defensive, although there was no confrontation in the doctor's tone.

"She needed to see him," he answered simply.

"And he needed to hear her voice," Fin added fiercely. Fielding nodded placidly.

"Please, don't think I'm being critical. I'm not. I agree with you, and I think it was a damned good idea. Thankyou, Captain Deakins. Sometimes we doctors can be kind of blinkered when it comes to our patients. Sometimes, it takes something like you to think outside the box, and come up with those unusual ideas that we otherwise wouldn't have thought of. So again, thankyou."

Deakins smiled in response, embarrassed, but at the same time relieved.

"You're welcome."

* * *

"So, that was his partner."

Fin looked back at Frank with a slight frown as he pulled his chair back over to the bedside and resumed his vigil at his friend's side after both Deakins and Fielding had gone.

It was all Fin could do not to snap outright, but there was something in Frank's voice that set him on edge. Perhaps it was the instinctive irritation he felt on Bobby's behalf every time he'd heard someone make a lewd suggestion about Bobby and Alex's partnership, but he felt his hackles immediately rise up at the seemingly simple comment.

"Yeah," he answered tonelessly, making every effort to keep his voice neutral, and his emotions in check. "That was Alex."

"She seemed pretty tough," Frank mused.

Again, Fin felt his irritation levels rise. He hoped this was not going where he thought it was, but by all indications so far, it seemed that Frank was heading towards a major verbal faux pas.

"She was shot three times, Frank," Fin said bluntly, staring at the other man with a deriding glare. "She stayed conscious long enough to call for help, even though she could hardly talk. So yeah, she's tough."

"Actually, I meant…" Frank faltered, then, and eyed Fin intently for a long minute before finally shaking his head. "Never mind."

By then, Fin was intensely suspicious, and he leaned forward, focusing his best 'cop versus suspect' glare on Bobby's brother – something that he had partly developed himself over the years, and had also partly learned from Bobby himself during their time together in Narcotics. It had the desired effect – Frank began to squirm uncomfortably in his chair, and found himself unable to hold Fin's interrogating stare.

"What, exactly, _did_ you mean?" Fin demanded. When Frank didn't respond, Fin let his breath out in an angry hiss.

"What you meant was that she must be tough to be partners with Bobby. That's what you really meant to say, wasn't it?"

The silence from the other side of the bed spoke in volumes, and Fin looked away in anger.

"You lousy son of a bitch."

Frank flushed red with anger, and finally looked back up to meet Fin's angry gaze.

"Hey, give me a break here, Tutuola! I wasn't trying to insult Bobby. All I mean is that I know from experience how hard it is to get along with him! Even Bobby wouldn't deny that, and you damn well know it! I was trying to compliment her… You know, to say that she must be something special to have gone the distance as his partner… and also to get him to respond to her like he did."

Fin, however, was not placated by Frank's explanation.

"Bullshit," he spat, as all of his vehemence towards Bobby's brother rapidly bubbled to the surface. "You never even tried to get along with him. You spent half the time comparing Bobby to your mom and telling him he was gonna end up just like her. The rest of the time, you treated him like shit just to try and impress your old man. He's your little brother, Frank. You should've looked after him, but instead you never gave him a chance. You were an asshole back then, Frank, and you're an asshole now."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Frank protested weakly, but Fin snorted derisively.

"Yeah, and out of the goodness of your own heart, too. What is it that you really wanted from him, Frank? Money, to pay off your bookie? That's usually what it is."

Frank bristled visibly, then.

"Maybe you ought to remember that you're only in here at all because I said it was okay. I only have to speak to the nurses, and you'll be out of here so fast…"

The rage that flashed across Fin's face at the not-too-subtle threat was enough to truly give Frank pause, but before either man could say a word, the door swung open and Dr Fielding strode in, looking at the two men in genuine anger.

"What in the name of God is going on here? I was two rooms down, and I could hear you both arguing from there!"

"Just a disagreement," Fin said in a guttural tone when Frank remained silent. Fielding glowered fiercely at the two of them.

"Then take it outside this hospital. Of all the inappropriate places to be fighting, this is absolutely the worst choice you could make! If you can't both stay in here without getting into it over… well, over whatever it is that you were arguing, then I promise I'll kick you both out. I would rather arrange to have Alex Eames in here with Bobby than the two of you if you can't keep it civil!"

"We're sorry," Frank murmured, genuinely chastened. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Fielding regarded them piercingly before nodded.

"I hope not."

With a final glaring look, the doctor exited the room once more, leaving two very subjugated men in his wake. Frank peered at Fin, his head tilted on a slight angle in a gesture that was disturbingly reminiscent of Bobby.

"So… Do you think we can manage not to argue? Because if Bobby really can hear us, then listening to us go at each other can't be doing him a hell of a lot of good."

For several seconds, Fin remained where he was, glaring furiously at Frank. Finally, though, he sat back with a heavy thud.

"Whatever, man."

A weary sigh escaped Frank, and he reluctantly accepted that that was all the concession that he was likely to get out of the SVU detective.

"Okay, then."

* * *

Over the next twenty-four hours, Bobby finally began to show signs of waking from the coma and, in response to slowly strengthening lung functionality, Dr Fielding had the ventilator and accompanying tubing removed. Bobby's breathing was shallow, but he was at least breathing on his own, and that was another encouraging sign to bolster their hopes.

Bobby also began to noticeably respond not only to Alex, but to others who spoke to him as well. Most particularly, he seemed to respond well to Deakins, Fin and, to the interest of all, John and Helen Eames. Though no one said a word about it, it was a telling sign that the one person who could get no response from Bobby was Frank Goren.

It was a curious irony, then, that it was only Frank who was with him in ICU when, nearly seventy-two hours after coming out of isolation, Bobby Goren finally woke up.

* * *

Darkness and pain. To begin with, that was all that Bobby was aware of. Dimly, somewhere in some distant corner of his mind, he wondered whether he was dead, but dismissed that almost straight away. He was sure that being dead couldn't possibly hurt as much as this.

He tried to move, found he couldn't, and then wondered if he really had tried to move, or whether he just _thought_ he had. God, what a mind-bender to put on himself. He moaned, only to realise that he couldn't hear himself, either. So he was either paralysed and deaf, or still asleep. He hoped to God it was the latter.

He groaned again, and this time was gratified to actually hear the sound, faint though it was. So his ears were working. Now, for the rest…

A hand closed over his own, with just enough strength in the grip that he could not doubt that someone was there. He struggled to regain some clarity of thought, and as he did so, a familiar voice rang distantly in his ears.

"Bobby? C'mon, kid, it's time to wake up. Please, open your eyes…"

Goren felt a dull jolt through his system. At forty-five years of age, there was only one person on the face of the planet who might have called him 'kid', and that was someone that he hadn't seen for a long time. Feeling dazed, sick and confused, Bobby Goren slowly opened his eyes.

* * *

Frank Goren smiled in relief as his brother's eyes flickered open, and gradually focused on him. He squeezed Bobby's hand again, and spoke softly to his brother.

"Hey, Bobby. Welcome back, little brother."

"_F_..._ Fr_…"

"Yeah, it's me," Frank murmured. "It's Frank. Don't try to talk, okay?"

That was an instruction that Bobby had no problems following. He had no strength to talk, anyway. It was hard enough trying to sort out his thoughts and memories without trying to vocalise them as well.

Still smiling, Frank reached across and pressed down hard on the button that would summon a nurse or doctor to the room, and then he sat back down to wait. He felt a brief moment of guilt that none of Bobby's friends or colleagues were there for his initial moment of waking, but that was all too easily brushed aside. Bobby was _his_ brother, and he had no problems seeing himself as being entitled to the privilege of being the one whom Bobby woke up to.

A nurse came promptly, and smiled with visible relief when she saw Bobby stirring.

"I'll call for Dr Fielding, and then I'll be right back," she told Frank, and hurried from the room. Frank watched her go, and then returned his attention to his brother.

"Bobby? You with me?"

A slight shudder passed through Bobby's body, and his eyes opened again and looked questioningly to Frank. The older man grasped his hand firmly.

"Boy, you gave me one hell of a scare," Frank told him gently. "I came all the way to New York with my family to see you, only to find you in the hospital after being shot! Damn, Bobby…When you piss someone off, you really go all the way, don't you?"

Even in his semi-aware state, Bobby felt his heart clench with a sickening combination of guilt and fear as memories of the shooting began to trickle back into his conscious mind. He remembered the physical agony as four bullets tore through his body, and he remembered the emotional agony as he watched Alex be gunned down as well. He had vague recollections of dragging himself across a cold, hard floor… picking up his gun… firing…

Did he shoot back? He couldn't clearly remember. All he knew was the last clear, conscious memory he had, which was of Alex lying on the floor across from him, her precious blood seeping out onto the cement. After that, there was nothing.

He came back to awareness to find not Frank but someone else hovering over him, someone whom he was fairly sure was a doctor. His assumption was confirmed when the stranger spoke.

"Hello, Bobby. I'm Dr Fielding. I've been looking after you. Can you tell me, do you know where you are?"

That was not a hard question to answer, Bobby thought ruefully. He promptly changed his mind when he opened his mouth to answer, and could not get anything out other than a strangled moan. A moment later, he felt the tip of a straw being placed against his lips. He parted them, and managed to suck a little bit of cool water into his dry mouth.

"There you go," Fielding murmured. "How's that? Better?"

"Thanks…" Bobby whispered. He drew in a shuddering breath, and then added, "I'm… in the hospital."

"That's right," Fielding confirmed. "You're in the ICU at St Clare's Hospital, Bobby. Do you know why?"

"Got… shot…" he mumbled tiredly in answer. Fielding nodded approvingly. He was more than pleased with Bobby's level of awareness, but he had to ask at least one more question.

"And how are you feeling right now?"

Even with the scatty state that his mind was currently in, that seemed to Bobby to be a phenomenally stupid question. He was sorry that he had no energy to give his tone the level of sarcasm that he felt his answer warranted. Instead, he settled for giving the doctor his most incredulous look. Fielding smiled apologetically, and Bobby knew the doctor was aware how idiotic his question was.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Fielding apologised. "But I always ask that question just to see what sort of a reaction I get. It's actually easier to gauge how alert you are by asking the fool questions rather than the sensible ones." Fielding looked around at Frank, who was watching anxiously. "He's going to be okay, Mr Goren."

Frank let his breath out in a rush.

"You're serious…?"

"I am. This is what I was waiting for, for him to wake up and show that he's rational and lucid. It's a good thing, Mr Goren. A very good thing. His vitals are improving steadily, and now that he's awake I can officially downgrade his condition from critical to serious. He's going to get through this."

"Thank God," Frank murmured.

"Of course, I can't speak yet for the other issues… such as what sort of damage we might yet find has been done by that last bullet, but he is going to live through this."

Frank nodded, swallowing hard.

"Well… That's the important thing, for now at least."

Bobby gradually became aware that there was a conversation going on about him that he wasn't being directly involved in, and decided somewhat muzzily that it was time to be included back into the discussion; which he did it by asking about the one thing that was weighing most heavily on his exhausted mind.

"Alex…"

Fielding looked back to Bobby, and momentary confusion was quickly replaced with sympathetic understanding.

"She's fine, Bobby. She's healing well. Believe me when I tell you that she's going to be incredibly relieved to hear that you're awake, finally."

The word 'finally' registered in Bobby's subconscious, and he wondered dimly just how long he'd been unconscious for. As far as he was aware, the shooting had happened only hours ago, and not days. He decided it was not a question to waste precious energy asking. Fielding went on, speaking clearly to ensure that Bobby comprehended what he was saying.

"Once you've had a chance to wake up a little more, we'll take you to run some tests, so you'll have to be patient with us, while we poke and prod at you. Right now, though, I'm going to get a couple of nurses in here, and we'll see about getting you cleaned up, and a little more presentable. Okay?"

Bobby sighed faintly, and managed to nod. Right at that moment, he would have gone along with just about anything the doctor said. He was simply too weak and in too much pain to argue. Fielding smiled with visible relief, and headed for the door.

"Hey, Doc…" Frank called after him, and Fielding looked back questioningly.

"Yes, Mr Goren?"

"Um… Detective Tutuola… He had to leave to answer a call-out… or, whatever it is they call it. He… He'd really want to know that Bobby's awake, but I don't know how to contact him."

Fielding smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Don't worry, Mr Goren. I'll be letting Captain Deakins know in very short order, and trust me; the word will spread very quickly from there on."

"And his partner… Alex?"

Fielding's grin widened.

"I'll organise for her to come up as soon as we're done with all the preliminary tasks. We need to run a number of tests, just so we can be sure that everything is functioning as it should be, neurologically speaking. I don't believe there'll be any problems in that respect, but I plan to cover all the bases."

Frank nodded in understanding.

"Thankyou, Dr Fielding. Thankyou for saving my brother."

The doctor's gaze went to Bobby. His eyes were closed, but Fielding could tell he hadn't slipped back into unconsciousness primarily by the way that he was struggling to keep his breathing even. He was in pain, but he was alive, and awake. Miracles really did happen, Fielding mused silently. Then, with a last nod of acknowledgment to Frank, Fielding hurried from the room.

* * *

_tbc..._


	5. Disturbing News

A/N: _Okay, this chapter may make me unpopular. Basically, though, this is the way this story is going. If severe Bobby-whompage bothers you, don't read on._

_

* * *

_

To say that Bobby was unaware of the string of neurological tests that were run on him would have been a very big understatement. He was in and out of consciousness – more out than in – and it all passed in a blur for him.

When he was returned to his room in the ICU ward, there seemed to be a multitude of faces there, waiting for him. He recognised the captain, Fin, his brother… plus others whose names escaped him right then. They all spoke to him, but their words were just an incomprehensible jumbled to his exhausted mind.

What he was acutely aware of, though, was that the one person he really wanted to see… the one person he _needed_ to see… was not there. Exhausted and distressed, Bobby eventually gave up searching for her and slipped once more back into unconsciousness.

* * *

"He was looking for Alex," Fin said grimly once Bobby was asleep again. Fielding nodded.

"I gathered that as well. It's unfortunate that his waking up coincided with the surgery on her shoulder. She's not going to be mobile again for a day or two at least." He paused, looking up at Deakins. "Even if we move her, bed and all."

"We'll just have to make sure someone's here with him constantly," Deakins murmured, "and that we keep telling him that she's okay."

Frank nodded in agreement.

"We can do that. It won't be a problem, will it? Fin?"

Fin raised an eyebrow, slightly incredulous that Frank was including him, despite their earlier disagreement.

"No," he agreed quietly, with reluctant gratitude. "It won't."

* * *

"Dr Fielding?"

Fielding looked around as Deakins emerged from the ICU room. He stopped, allowing the captain a chance to catch up with him.

"Yes, Captain Deakins?"

"You said you're fairly certain he hasn't suffered any neurological effects."

"That's right," Fielding confirmed. "I'll have to examine the results of the tests thoroughly, but I'm confident that they'll all come up clear."

Deakins drew in a steadying breath. That was a relief, but it was not the only good news he was hoping to hear.

"And what about his spine?"

The doctor sighed softly at that.

"Honestly speaking, Captain Deakins, it could be anywhere up to a month before we'll know for certain just what the level of damage is there. There is still a considerable amount of swelling, so even if there is no permanent damage, I won't be the least bit surprised if he has no sensation or mobility below the waist, at least to begin with."

"But you're not hopeful, are you?" Deakins asked, and Fielding responded with a grimace.

"Captain…"

"Please," Deakins said softly. "Be honest with me. I need to know the reality here so that I can give my detectives the support that they're going to need."

Fielding stared at him for a long moment before sighing and nodding in concession.

"All right, Captain Deakins. You'd better come with me."

* * *

"You really don't have good news," Deakins said softly, in a voice that was filled with dread as Fielding ushered him into his office and bade him sit. Fielding regarded him soberly as he sank into his own chair.

"The good news, Captain Deakins, is that Bobby is going to live. And believe me when I say that I had my doubts about that, even just twenty-four hours ago. If he'd remained comatose for much longer, I honestly don't believe he would have ever woken up. And if he had, it wouldn't have been without severe neurological damage. As it is, I think he's an incredibly lucky man. As far as the rest goes, you know we had to remove his spleen, and I know that you understand the risks that will pose to his health in the future."

"I understand all that," Deakins said impatiently. "Tell me something I don't already know. Tell me what's happening with his spine."

Fielding paused, then, and stared piercingly at the captain.

"You don't know about the bullet yet…? Damn, I thought one of your CSU people was going to tell you."

Deakins felt a chill wash down his body.

"What about the bullet? I thought you said it was removed successfully?"

"It was, in that he survived the procedure, and at the time that was the best result that we could hope for. Anything beyond that was a very big bonus. The problem facing us now, Captain, is the damage that bullet did. Captain Deakins, it mushroomed and fragmented inside Bobby's body."

Deakins could literally feel the colour draining from his face. He knew as well as any cop the sort of damage that could be done by a bullet that mushroomed. And if that was what had happened with the bullet that had been pressing against Bobby's spine, then the likelihood of a full recovery had just flown out the window, never to return.

"What you're saying…" Deakins said hoarsely, "is that he's probably never going to walk again."

Fielding regarded him with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow.

"Captain Deakins, the scans and x-rays we took of Bobby's spine when he was brought in, and again before the surgery to remove the bullet showed the spinal cord was partially severed. Unfortunately, the amount of swelling around the injury made it impossible for us to tell at the time just how much nerve damage there was. We're waiting now for the swelling to recede so that we can re-evaluate, but I think that when it does all we're going to find is that the nerves have been severed. If that's the case, then there really is no hope. I'm sorry, Captain Deakins, but you wanted the bottom line, and that's it. I've consulted in depth with the surgeon who removed the bullet, and we're in full agreement. It's almost a hundred percent certain, Captain. Your detective will most likely be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."

As much as he'd tried to prepare himself for such a statement, the news still rolled through Deakins like a shockwave. He was immensely grateful all of a sudden that he was sitting down, because he felt sure that he would have collapsed, otherwise. And slowly, as he absorbed the news, he still found himself clutching at proverbial straws.

"But… this isn't absolutely certain yet. There's still a chance…"

"Captain Deakins, you wanted me to give you the hard facts. That's what I'm doing. The chance that he'll have any degree of sensation and mobility when the swelling recedes is extremely remote. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Deakins whispered, thinking with growing nausea about how Alex would react, and how Bobby would cope. Neither was going to take it well. Not well at all.

* * *

Helen Eames was alone in Alex's room when Deakins walked in, and she offered him a warm smile.

"I just spoke to Alex's doctor. He said she's in Recovery. Apparently the surgery went very well, and she's going to make a complete recovery. Isn't that wonderful?"

He tried hard to smile, but in light of the news he'd just received, it was suddenly very hard to show any happiness.

"That's great news," he murmured, hating himself for letting his voice sound so flat. Helen regarded him with concern, her own enthusiasm fading rapidly.

"Jimmy? What's wrong?"

"Bobby's awake, finally," he told her, and Helen raised her eyebrows in response.

"I would have thought that was good news, and yet you look like someone just announced the end of the world."

He wandered over to a spare seat, and sat down miserably.

"For Bobby, that might just be the case, Helen."

"Oh… What's happened to him now?"

And suddenly, Deakins found he had to tell someone.

"I just spoke to Bobby's doctor. He's not hopeful that Bobby will ever walk again."

A moment later, Helen sat back down with a soft thud, dismay on her face.

"Oh… Oh no…"

"They won't know for certain until the swelling goes down, but they're not hopeful at all. It… looks like Bobby is going to be left paralysed, permanently."

He felt a strange wetness on his cheeks as he spoke, and realised he'd begun to shed tears without realising it. Footsteps suddenly sounded in the doorway, and John and Marty Eames appeared before he had a chance to wipe them away.

"Jim?" John asked in quiet concern. "What's happened? Bobby isn't… is he?"

"No," Deakins murmured, feeling no comfort in being able to assure them that Bobby was still alive. "He's not dead, thank God."

Neither John nor Marty smiled at the news. It didn't take much effort for them to know there was something else very wrong.

"Well, that is good news," John said, "but there's obviously something else…" And he trailed off as realisation struck. "Oh no… Not his legs?"

"It looks like permanent paralysis," Deakins confirmed softly. "The bullet mushroomed inside him and partially severed his spinal cord. Really, it was a miracle they were able to get it out without killing him."

"Sweet Jesus," Marty groaned. "What a lousy blow."

"I don't know how to even start dealing with this," Deakins admitted unhappily. "All I know is that if Bobby is pushed out on a disability, then it will kill him."

"Then don't let that happen," John said calmly. Deakins regarded him incredulously.

"How do I manage that? If he's in a wheelchair, then active duty is out of the question. And giving him a desk job that's nothing but paperwork would kill him just as fast."

"You could keep him in the squad as a consultant," Marty suggested. "Or, maybe as your resident profiler. Let's face it, Jim, he's the only one you've got, and if you lose him your squad's solve rate is going to plummet."

Deakins fell abruptly quiet, struck by the idea of having Bobby employed exclusively for the purposes of profiling. It was an intriguing idea, and one that he already found himself starting to like. Not only would it benefit the squad, but it would provide Bobby with a purpose – and that was something that he would be completely lacking if he was forced to retire on a disability pension.

A faint smile touched Deakins' lips. If he could pull that off with the Powers That Be, then not only would it ensure that Bobby could continue his career with the NYPD, but that it would also guarantee him a substantial pay rise. All in all, it was definitely something that was worth looking at, and soon.

"You'll figure something out, Jim," John told him quietly. "And in the meantime, we'll all just have to pull together to make sure that Bobby deals with this. Bobby and Alex both."

* * *

_24 Hours Later_

"Hey, buddy."

Slowly, very slowly, Bobby prised his eyes open as the familiar voice drew him out of the dim state of semi-awareness that he'd been floating in. To start with, he could see nothing but a white blur that left him nearly blinded. He groaned faintly and shut his eyes again in reaction to the unwanted assault on his senses.

"Hang on a second…" the voice said. "Okay, Bobby. Try now."

Reluctantly, Bobby tried opening his eyes again, and this time he was relieved to find the light and been dimmed considerably. He looked around himself slowly, dazedly. The first thing he noticed was a table in the far corner of the room that was laden with a few plants, a multitude of bright cards and many other gifts. Several helium-filled balloons bounced gently on the ceiling, all bearing variations on the standard 'get well soon' message.

He looked away again finally, and as his head turned, his eyes came to rest on the man who stood by the bedside, watching him with a relieved smile.

"Fin…" Bobby croaked out in a voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper, and the SVU detective turned away momentarily to fill a glass halfway with water. Setting a straw in there, he held it to Bobby's lips, encouraging him to sip.

"Thanks," Bobby whispered once Fin took the glass away again.

"No problem. Man, you know you look like crap, but it's good to see you awake."

"Thanks," Bobby whispered again, and this time a wry smile quirked his lips. Fin grinned down at him affectionately.

"You don't look much better than that night we went bar-hopping, after the Gambesi bust."

Bobby drew in a shuddering breath.

"You… You remember that?"

"Nah, man. I'm just going by the photos."

Silence met that statement, and then Bobby looked at Fin in horror.

"Photos…? Someone took photos?"

"Don't worry, buddy boy. I've got all the negatives, I promise."

The two men stared at each other for a long minute, and then Bobby groaned softly when he finally caught a glimpse of the mischievous spark in his friend's eyes.

"Asshole."

Fin laughed openly, then.

"Sorry, pal. But damn, it's good to see your eyes open. You scared the shit outta all of us, you know that?"

"Didn't… mean to."

"Yeah, well, I'll forgive you this time."

Bobby sighed, and silence fell briefly between them. In the silence, his mind wandered, and it wandered to an inevitable topic.

"Have you seen Frank?"

It was with some effort that Fin didn't snort derisively.

"Uh huh. Gotta give the guy credit. He hasn't been doing his usual asshole act. Apparently, when you first woke up, he actually asked the doctor to contact me and let me know. Just between us, I can't say I would've given him the same consideration."

"Did… Did he tell you why he's here?"

"He said he just wanted to see you again, pal. He swears he doesn't want money or anything like that. Whether he's telling the truth, I don't know. But he said he just wanted to catch up… and introduce you to your niece."

That caught Bobby's attention.

"My… _niece_? Frank has a daughter?"

"Uh huh. Beautiful little girl called Sophie."

"You've seen her?"

"Yeah, and if you ask me, I think she's more like her Uncle Bobby than her old man. You're gonna love her, man. She's gorgeous. Not to mention bitterly disappointed that she's not been allowed in to see you."

"ICU rules," Bobby mumbled, and Fin nodded.

"Right. Plus, there's a nurse out there who could put Attila the Hun to shame."

The faintest of smiles flickered across Bobby's lips, but that was all. He was tired and hurting, but even more than that he was increasingly fearful for Alex's wellbeing. Fin was no fool and, being a cop himself he knew what was going through his friend's mind without having to ask. Leaning in, he spoke in a low, firm voice.

"She's gonna be okay, Bobby."

Bobby's gaze lifted to meet Fin's, both hopeful and fearful.

"Alex…? She… She's really okay?"

"Yeah, man. She had to have shoulder and knee reconstructions, but it ain't as bad as it sounds. She's gonna make a hundred percent recovery. She's more worried about you now than herself, and boy, was she pissed to hear that you woke up when she was in surgery. You know, she's been up here three times in the last twelve hours to see you? I think her doctor's about to have a heart attack. She's supposed to stay put for at least forty-eight hours after that last surgery, but she keeps bribing the male nurses to help her into a wheelchair and bring her up here. That girl's date card is gonna be full for the next three months if she doesn't quit."

"I wish I'd been awake," he mumbled, and yet Fin heard some reticence in his tone. Again, he had no trouble guessing what that was about.

"Hey, Bobby, she doesn't blame you for what happened, and she doesn't want you blaming yourself, either."

"No? Then who should I blame?"

"How about blaming the mutt that shot you both?" Fin suggested. "Look, I get that you feel responsible. But don't go taking the blame for something that you couldn't control!"

"He took my gun, Fin. I let him take my gun. That's inexcusable."

"Let him…? You… let him…? Bobby, what drugs have they got you on? Damn, if you weren't laid up, I'd have decked you for that! You did not let him do anything! You ain't psychic, pal. You didn't have any way of knowing what that scumbag was gonna do. You can't take the blame for that."

Bobby looked away. All of a sudden, he was so damned tired.

"IAB might think differently."

Fin felt a chill race down his spine at his friend's words, and he leaned in closer still.

"You listen to me, Bobby. _If_ IAB comes to you about this, you had damn well better not deliberately torpedo your own career just because you have a guilt complex."

Bobby looked back at him incredulously.

"You think I have a guilt complex?"

"I _know_ you've got that post traumatic stress syndrome thing. You must have, to be spouting bullshit like this."

"So, you're a shrink now?" Bobby asked caustically. "When did you get your degree? Because I must have missed that bulletin."

"Same time you did, smart ass," Fin answered calmly, and Bobby flinched, immediately regretful of his brief outburst.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Fin hesitated, and then laid a hand gently on Bobby's right shoulder.

"It's okay, Bobby. You've been through hell, man. You're entitled to be angry. Just not at me. All I'm trying to say is don't go jumping the gun. Talk to someone… Skoda, or maybe we can get Huang in here to talk to you… before you go shooting off to IAB proclaiming your own guilt. Because if you do that, believe me, it ain't me that you'll have to worry about. It'll be Alex. _She'll_ kill you long before I ever get a chance to."

Bobby stared up at the sterile white ceiling, suddenly blinded by hot tears.

"I just feel like I let her down, Fin."

"I know, buddy. But you didn't. Everyone's saying the same thing. You and her… You saved each other. Neither one of you would've been here now without the other. You dragged yourself across the floor to get your gun back and shoot Black to stop him from killing Alex, and then she managed to radio for help before losing consciousness, so that help got there in time to save you both. You guys are the absolute definition of a perfect partnership, Bobby. And you've got nothing to be ashamed of. I just hope it won't be too long before you believe that too."

He had nothing left to answer Fin, though. What little energy he'd had was gone, and he could feel himself sliding back into unconsciousness. The last thing he knew as darkness claimed him again was the reassuring pressure of Fin's hand on his shoulder, and his friend's voice in his ear reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

When Bobby awoke again, he was surprised to find that he was reasonably alert, and relieved to discover that the pain seemed to be at a minimum. He lay still and silent, breathing slowly and evenly while he tried to gauge how he was feeling. He was still trying to decide when a warm hand closed over his right forearm.

His breathing quickened at that familiar touch, but he dared not open his eyes. He was suddenly terrified of what he would see when he looked into her eyes. He was terrified that he would see the same condemnation in her eyes that he had heaped upon himself ever since regaining consciousness.

Most of all, he was terrified of seeing confirmation in her eyes that he had finally screwed up badly enough to drive her right away.

"Bobby, I know you're awake. Will you please look at me?"

He couldn't, though, and he stayed frozen in the slim hope that she might actually believe that he was still asleep. It didn't fool her, just as he'd suspected it wouldn't.

"Bobby, Fin told me that you're blaming yourself."

_Damn big mouth_, Bobby thought ruefully.

"You have to stop thinking like that," Alex went on. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Still not daring to open his eyes, Bobby drew in a shuddering breath, and spoke in a trembling whisper.

"I let him take my gun, Alex. It's my fault that you were shot."

He felt, rather than heard, her sigh.

"That's my Bobby. Smartest guy in the NYPD, and also the dumbest. You idiot, will you please open your eyes and look at me?"

Her voice took on a distinct edge that he instinctively could not ignore, and he finally opened his eyes and looked over at her. The very first thing that struck him was the look in her eyes. He could read a lot in their depths, but the condemnation that he'd expected to see was not there. He read sadness, relief, confusion, compassion… but no condemnation or anger.

"Now that I've finally got your attention, Bobby, I want you to look at your left wrist. Go on, look at it."

His eyes went slowly to the plaster that encased his left wrist, and he stared at it blankly. Alex sighed again, this time in frustration.

"Damn, Bobby. How is it that you can make the most incredible leaps of logic, and yet when it comes to anything about yourself, you can't see what's right in front of your face?"

He looked genuinely confused, she thought bemusedly.

"I… I don't understand…"

"Don't you remember, Bobby? Black grabbed your wrist, and he snapped it like a piece of chalk. He dislocated your shoulder in the process, too. _Then_ he grabbed your gun. You're a pretty tough guy, Bobby, but not even you could have recovered from the shock and pain of that quickly enough to stop that son of a bitch from taking your weapon. You're only human, just like the rest of us mere mortals." She paused, and then added in a soft, stricken tone, "And besides, if anyone other than Black is to blame for what happened, then it's me, for not backing you up."

That caught Bobby's attention, and he looked around at her in horror.

"What? No! Alex, it wasn't your fault!"

"Okay, then," she conceded. "I'll make you a deal. I won't blame myself, and you stop blaming yourself. Is that a reasonable deal?"

For several long seconds they stared at each other in absolute silence. Then, finally, a rueful smile broke out across Bobby's lips.

"Smooth, Eames. Very smooth."

She smiled back at him, and squeezed his right hand gently.

"That's why I'm still senior detective. But seriously, Bobby, you didn't do anything wrong. Neither did I. Do you think you can possibly accept that?"

Bobby let his breath out slowly as he gazed at her pale face. Coming from anyone else, he thought no, probably not. But coming from Alex?

"Yes," he whispered, taking enormous relief in the concern and kindness that radiated out from her entire being. "I think I can."

She smiled warmly at him, but before she had a chance to say another word, a nurse entered the room and spoke enthusiastically when she saw Bobby was awake.

"Well, good, you're awake finally. I'll go and get Dr Fielding. He's just a few rooms down seeing another patient. He wanted to see you and talk to you when you woke up."

Bobby looked across at Alex, puzzled, as the nurse exited the room.

"Dr Fielding…?" he asked wearily, and she nodded as she let her fingertips stroke lightly along his forehead.

"That's the doctor who's been taking care of you. He's a good guy, Bobby."

And then Bobby remembered his first moments of awakening, and the doctor that had been there, and who had asked such an idiotic question as 'how are you feeling'.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I think I remember him."

The soothing sensation of her touch on his forehead was relaxing him better than any drug might have been able to, and he was sorely tempted to let sleep take him once more. Even as he was contemplating that, though, movement in the doorway drew his attention, he quickly recognised the man there as being the same doctor whose face he had awoken to before.

"Welcome back, Bobby," Fielding said with a smile as he leaned over to look into Bobby's eyes, testing his ocular reflexes with a light. "I'm very, _very_ happy to see you awake _and _alert. Don't worry, though. I promise you that I won't ask you how you're feeling again. I imagine I can probably guess that."

"Thankyou," Bobby mumbled tiredly. Alex squeezed his hand reassuringly, and then looked over at the doctor.

"He's hurting."

Fielding nodded amiably.

"I don't doubt it. Don't worry, Alex. I just need to check a few minor things, and then I'll be able to give him something to help with the pain."

The doctor paused, then, eyeing Bobby thoughtfully and wondering whether it would be the right thing to talk to Bobby straight away about his legs, or if he should wait for a more opportune moment. He recalled with almost painful clarity the tail end of his conversation with Captain Deakins, from the previous day, with Deakins advising him strongly not to delay in giving Bobby the truth about his condition.

"_You have to tell him the truth, Dr Fielding."_

"_I will," Fielding assured him, but Deakins shook his head._

"_No, Dr Fielding, you're missing my point. You have to tell him as soon as possible. If it were anyone else, then yes. You could wait and tell them whenever you felt it was a suitable time, but this is Bobby Goren that we're talking about. You need to believe me when I tell you that he will know, and the longer you delay talking to him about it, the worse it's going to be. You need to be completely honest with him, and don't try to dumb down for him, either. Because he understands the terminology and he won't appreciate being treated like a fool."_

"There's something wrong, isn't there?"

Fielding grimaced as Bobby's words cut into his consciousness.

"Your captain told me you were perceptive. More fool me for not paying attention to him."

Beside Bobby, Alex sat up a little straighter, staring at Fielding tensely.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Fielding hesitated just briefly before walking over and shutting the door, and then returning to the bedside.

"I'm afraid there is bad news. And it is very bad news. It isn't a hundred percent confirmed yet, but the likelihood that it isn't permanent is extremely remote."

"What?" Alex demanded, and Fielding could hear the first hints of panic and outright terror in her tone. Bobby, however, was lying still and quiet, watching him through half-closed eyes. He knew, Fielding thought grimly. He already knew...

Drawing in a long breath, Fielding side-stepped so that he was standing level with Bobby's legs.

"Bobby, I want you to shut your eyes."

Bobby regarded him quizzically, but then conceded and shut his eyes. Fielding lifted the blankets and exposed Bobby's feet and legs. Deliberately avoiding looking at Alex, he drew a pin from his pocket and, holding his breath, he jabbed the sharp end into the sole of Bobby's foot, hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. As he'd feared, Bobby didn't so much as flinch in response.

"Bobby, didn't you feel that...?" Alex asked worriedly.

"Feel what?" he asked, starting to sound annoyed.

"Open your eyes," Fielding told him, and Bobby did so. Then, as Bobby watched, Fielding jabbed him with the pin once more, this time on the ankle, so that Bobby could clearly see what he was doing. Again, there was no reaction.

"Bobby...?" Alex asked softly, and this time the fear in her voice was unmistakable.

"I... didn't feel that," Bobby said softly, tonelessly. "I didn't feel you do that." He paused, frowning at the futile effort of trying to move his legs. "I can't feel them... I can't move them." He looked from Alex to Fielding, and for the first time Fielding saw a spark of genuine fear in the other man's eyes. "I can't move my legs. Why can't I move my legs?"

"We believe you have severe nerve damage," Fielding told him quietly.

"How severe?" Bobby asked, and Fielding paused for just a moment to consider his next words before going on.

"Keeping in mind that there is still a chance that I and my colleagues could be wrong... although, I think it's only a very slim possibility..."

"Get to the point, Dr Fielding," Bobby said sharply, his voice taking on an edge. Fielding nodded apologetically.

"All right. Here are the facts. When you were brought to us after being shot, we were able to remove all the bullets except one. That last one was resting against your spine, and we had to wait for a specialist to arrive before we could hope to remove it successfully."

"Successfully?" Bobby queried, and Fielding nodded.

"Successfully, as in you surviving the operation. Anything beyond that was considered a bonus. Now, because there was so much swelling around the area where the bullet was, the scans and x-rays we took didn't give us an accurate picture of the situation. It wasn't until we actually opened you up again and got to the bullet that we discovered it had mushroomed and fragmented."

"Oh god..." Alex whispered in horror.

"Our thoughts, too," Fielding agreed. "The part of the bullet that was still intact was removed, but the fragments... They were very small, very sharp fragments that were pressing against the nerves in your spine. We can't be certain yet, because of the amount of swelling that's still there, but our suspicions are that those fragments have severed the nerves, and caused irreversible damage."

"So..." Alex said hoarsely when Bobby didn't speak. "What you're saying is that... he may never walk again? Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

Fielding sighed softly.

"We're trying very hard not to anticipate anything yet, but the bottom line is that the paralysis and lack of sensation that you're experiencing now is not likely to change."

Absolute silence met his words, from both Bobby and Alex. She was watching Bobby intently, while he lay still and silent, staring at his legs with an inscrutable gaze.

"You're certain about this, aren't you?" Alex asked softly, and Fielding could hear all of the horror, fear and despair in her voice that he would have expected from a best friend and partner.

"Yes," he confirmed with sad reluctance. "I'm afraid I am." He looked back to Bobby, and noted with concern that Bobby appeared to have sunk back into the pillows, and was now staring up at the ceiling.

"Bobby..." he started to say, but Bobby cut him off in a voice that was almost toneless, and emotionless.

"I'm in a lot of pain. Can you please do something about it?"

Fielding bit back a sigh. Bobby was reacting just as Jim Deakins had warned that he would. He was shutting down emotionally, and Fielding didn't have the first clue about how to reverse it. All he could do was hope that Alex's presence would somehow help to put the brakes on the man's burgeoning depression.

"All right, Bobby," he conceded quietly, and walked around to prepare an injection of morphine into the IV. Alex's attention flickered between Fielding and Bobby, growing distress evident on her pale face.

"Bobby?"

He didn't react to her voice, and she tried again with a touch of desperation in her tone.

"Bobby, please talk to me."

He still didn't say a word, but when she tried to withdraw her hand from his, she suddenly found that she couldn't. Looking down, she realised that his hand had closed tightly around her own, and he wasn't letting go. She returned her gaze to him, just in time to see a single tear roll down the side of his face.

He was scared, she realised numbly. No, not scared, she corrected herself a moment later. He was terrified, and with just cause. In one fell swoop, his entire life had just been thrown into utter chaos. Tears welling up in her eyes, Alex grasped his hand firmly once more.

"I'm here, Bobby," she whispered in between ill-suppressed sobs. "I'm staying right here. It... It's going to be okay... somehow."

She felt sickened at the inadequacy of her own words, but there was little more she could say for she felt at an utter loss to reassure herself, let alone Bobby. All of a sudden, the future looked very, very bleak – for both of them.

Fielding injected the morphine through the IV, all the while watching both Alex and Bobby out of the corner of his eye. He was deeply worried for the both of them, and made a mental note to organise intensive counselling immediately.

"The morphine should take effect fairly quickly," he said quietly as he cleared up the waste products left over. "It may make you a little drowsy. I suggest you don't fight it if it does. The best thing for you right now is rest." He paused in turning towards the door, looking sympathetically at Alex. "For both of you. I'll send in a nurse in another ten minutes or so to check on you both. And... for what little it's worth... I really am sorry."

Then he was gone, leaving them alone.

Alex looked back to her partner, almost breathless with fear as the reality of the situation before them steadily sank in.

"Bobby..."

"It's over."

She felt a chill race down her spine at his words, and had to struggle not to make assumptions over what he meant by them.

"What is?" she asked, barely able to keep her voice from shaking. She realised dimly that she had never been this frightened in her entire life – not even when her husband had died, leaving her alone to face an uncertain future. Not even when her mother had suffered a stroke... Not even when she had watched Dylan Black advance on her in that warehouse, ready to kill her. She had never been so scared before, and it was making her sick to her stomach.

Silence met her question. He didn't answer, and continued to stare up at the ceiling, as though she wasn't even there in the room with him. She could feel him shutting down, shutting her out, and she was desperate to stop it, but she didn't even know where to start.

She was about to ask again when he did speak, although his voice was barely audible to her ears.

"My career. My... My life."

And, for the first time since Fielding had broken the terrible news to them, Alex felt a white hot flare of anger overtake her fear and distress.

"I don't know what the future holds for your career, Bobby," she said tensely. "I won't try to guess at that, and I know you're scared. So am I. But your life is not over, and I swear to God I'll kick your ass if I ever hear you say that again. Do you hear me, Robert Goren? I will _kick your ass_."

He looked around at her slowly, his attention drawn by her vehemence. They locked stares for nearly a minute before Bobby spoke again.

"Even... Even if I can't feel it?"

She couldn't help it. Alex snorted once, and then burst out laughing. A moment beyond that, Bobby had joined her and was laughing, too.

"You see?" she choked out as she wiped at her wet eyes. "It doesn't have to mean the end of the world, and if we can still laugh..."

His laughter had already faded, but a small smile remained on his lips. It was a sad smile, but a smile all the same, and it warmed Alex to see it.

"I'm scared, Alex," he admitted softly. She slipped her hand out of his, and reached up to cup his cheek gently.

"I know. I am, too. But we'll get through this. Even if..." She drew in a long breath, steeling herself. "Even if your career as a cop is finished, that doesn't mean _we're_ finished. You're my best friend, Bobby, and I promise that I'm going to stick with you all through this. Just don't give up on me, okay?"

He reached up and closed his trembling hand over hers.

"Thankyou," he whispered, fresh tears in his eyes, and she smiled in return.

"De Nada."

* * *

It took only a few minutes more for the morphine to take effect, and by the time a nurse looked in on them, Bobby was asleep once more. Alex made no objections when they took her back to her room. She was emotionally drained from the shock of the news, and had no energy to deal with anyone or anything. Therefore, she didn't know whether to be happy or dismayed to arrive back at her room to find Olivia Benson waiting there for her, with her partner in tow.

"Hey, Alex," Olivia greeted her warmly as the orderly assisted Alex back into her bed. It took more than a little effort for Alex to respond in kind as Olivia leaned in to hug her gently and kiss her cheek.

"Hey." Her gaze flickered to the man who was hovering in the doorway, and she offered him a weak smile. "You can come in, Elliot. I don't bite. At least, not from a hospital bed."

Elliot chuckled and ventured all the way into the room.

"Sorry. Just didn't know if I was welcome."

Alex raised an eyebrow in question, and Olivia tried to laugh it off, while throwing her partner a dark frown in warning. The last thing Alex needed right then was to know about Elliot's attitude towards her partner.

"Just ignore him. He's had some issues lately. How are you feeling, honey?"

"Like I got shot three times," she answered softly, trying with little success to settle back against the pillows.

"I'll bet you do," Olivia agreed. She paused, and then spoke carefully. "You were with your partner? Before, I mean."

And all of a sudden, Alex found herself struggling not to cry again.

"Yes," she answered, staring down intently at the blankets. "He... He's awake, finally. He... um..."

"Alex?" Olivia asked anxiously. "What is it?"

Before she could stop them, the tears were suddenly rolling down Alex's cheeks. When she did eventually look back up, she could barely see either Olivia or Elliot for the tears.

"The last bullet... It mushroomed, and fragmented... S... Severed the nerves in his... his spine... He... He's never going to walk again..."

She descended into a flood of tears, unable to get another word out. Glancing anxiously at Elliot, Olivia wrapped her arms around Alex in a comforting embrace. Elliot stepped closer, reaching out tentatively to touch Alex's shoulder in a gesture of support.

"They can't be sure of that yet, can they?" he wondered. "I mean, there must still be a lot of swelling, so how can they know for sure that the damage is permanent?"

"That's what I asked," Alex told them miserably. "Dr Fielding said that even though there was still some swelling, it didn't make any difference. He's paralysed, and there's nothing they can do about it."

"Ah, crap," Elliot muttered, feeling all the more guilty for his callous attitude towards Bobby. Sparing her partner another look, Olivia hugged Alex to her once more.

"It's going to be okay, Alex," she murmured. "It'll work out somehow."

Alex, however, pulled back out of Olivia's embrace.

"No," she choked out. "It won't be okay. It's never going to be okay!"

"What's going on here?"

They all looked around in time to see John Eames and Jimmy Deakins walk into the room. Deakins paused, took one look at Alex's stricken expression, and quickly guessed what was wrong.

"You know," he said quietly. By then, Alex was too distraught to register the fact that Deakins knew ahead of her.

"Dr Fielding... He told us..."

"Us?" John echoed, exchanging a worried glance with the captain. "Us, as in you _and_ Bobby?"

"Yes," Alex whimpered. "He... He told us both together... when I was with Bobby before."

"Oh, damn," John muttered, but Deakins shook his head.

"No, he needed to be told as soon he was alert enough to understand. If Fielding hadn't told him, it would only have made it worse for him." He looked back to Alex anxiously, feeling lousy at questioning her like this but needing to know all the same. "How did Bobby take it, Alex?"

"Not good," Alex answered tearfully. "He started to shut down... didn't want to talk to anyone... He wouldn't look at me. I think I managed to stop him... you know, from shutting down totally, but only while I was with him. I... I don't know what he'll be like when he wakes up again."

"Wakes up?" Deakins echoed. "So, he was asleep when you left him?"

"Yes. He... Bobby... He practically asked Dr Fielding to sedate him. Dr Fielding gave him a dose of morphine for the pain he was in, and it knocked him out pretty quickly. But... He's scared. He is really, _really_ scared. I don't think I've ever seen him as scared as that, ever. Not in all the time I've known him."

"Well, I suppose he's got a damned good reason to be scared," John conceded grimly. "His entire world has just been turned totally on its head."

Deakins nodded in agreement.

"He's going to be scared at the prospect of losing his partnership with Alex... losing his job... of losing his independence."

"He's scared that he's going to lose me," Alex said shakily. "And, I don't know how to start convincing him that he won't."

"He's in a position no cop should ever have to find themselves in," John murmured. "So, we're just going to have to find a way to convince him that he doesn't have to deal with this alone, and that none of us are going to abandon him."

"That will be easier said than done," Alex said bitterly. "He's hard enough to reach ordinarily. Now, it'll be like trying to dig through a brick wall with a plastic spoon."

John nodded determinedly.

"Well, we'll just have to find a way to reach him, _together_."

* * *

Deakins emerged from the hospital into bright sunlight that had him momentarily shielding his eyes. He stood there on the steps for the moment, waiting for his vision to adjust to daylight after the dimly lit hospital wards, before heading on down the steps. He'd almost reached the bottom when someone stepped abruptly into his line of sight, startling him into reaching for his gun.

"Easy, Jim," Ron Carver told him, holding his hands up defensively. "It's just me."

Deakins sighed heavily in visible relief.

"Sorry, Ron. We're all a little on edge at the moment with Dylan Black still on the loose."

Carver nodded.

"I understand, and that's actually the reason I'm here."

Deakins regarded him sharply.

"Oh? Do you want to elaborate on that, Ron?"

"Arthur Branch contacted me, and asked me to find you to let you know. Dylan Black has surfaced. He placed himself into his lawyer's custody a couple of hours ago, and his lawyer turned him in to the police on the condition that he suffers no retribution."

"Retribution," Deakins snorted derisively. "That slimy son of a bitch. He knows every cop in this city is out for blood for what he did to Bobby and Alex. If all he gets out of it are a few bruises, then he can count himself damned lucky."

"Be that as it may," Carver said, "it's in the best interests of us all to ensure that nothing is done to him to give him ammunition."

"So, where is he now?"

Carver hesitated at that, and Deakins frowned in growing suspicion.

"Ron? Where is Black?"

Carver sighed softly, and pointed back at the hospital. Deakins' jaw dropped.

"You have got to be kidding me! They sent him to the same hospital that Bobby and Alex are in? Who's decision was that?"

"I don't know," Carver admitted, "but be assured that he is under strict guard, and he's apparently on the other side of the hospital to your detectives. He won't be getting anywhere near them."

"Son of a bitch should never have been brought here to begin with," Deakins said heatedly. Carver regarded him grimly.

"The man was shot, Jim. We're obliged to see that he gets satisfactory treatment. You know that."

"I know it," Deakins conceded. "But I don't have to like it. Damn it, Ron, you haven't seen Alex or Bobby."

"I heard that Detective Goren is awake finally," Carver said carefully.

"He is, thank God," Deakins confirmed. "But it's not all good news. There are some other issues... big issues. It's not good."

Carver fell silent, wondering about the wisdom of telling the captain anything more. He had to, though, whether he liked it or not.

"Jim... There's something else you need to know."

"What now?" Deakins asked wearily as they reached his car.

"It's Black," Carver told him quietly. "Please stay calm, but you need to know... He's filed a complaint against Detective Goren and Detective Eames."

Deakins stood frozen, and his hand trembled visibly where it rested against the door of his car.

"He... _what_?"

Abruptly, Carver sincerely wished he had not agreed to tell this particular item of news to the captain.

"Dylan Black has filed a complaint of harassment against Detective Goren, and a brutality complaint against both Detectives Goren and Eames. And, he claims that what he did to them was done purely in self defence. He claims the detectives threatened to kill him if he didn't confess to the murder of his uncle."

"This is bullshit, Ron. You know as well as I do that Bobby and Alex wouldn't have done anything like that."

"I know it," Carver agreed, "and you know it. But this is the sort of mud that can stick to good cops like them, and end their careers. We're working to minimise the damage, but the bottom line is that it's going to come down to Goren and Eames' words against Dylan Black's. And if we automatically support the detectives, then the media will be screaming police bias before we have a chance to stop them."

"So, what you're saying is that the DA's office is going to hang Bobby and Alex out to dry," Deakins said flatly, causing Carver to wince.

"No, that is _not_ what I'm saying. What I'm saying is that we are going to have to tread very carefully through this particular minefield if we want to save Detective Goren and Detective Eames' careers."

Deakin turned away, suddenly finding it hard to hold back the tears.

"It may be too late for Bobby, regardless of where this goes."

Carver froze, feeling his blood turn cold at the ominous words.

"What are you talking about, Jim? He's awake, isn't he?"

"He's awake, but he's paralysed. No movement or sensation below the waist. Bobby's been crippled, Ron. That last bullet that they had such a hard time with severed the nerves in his spine. He's never going to walk again."

"Oh... no..." Carver whispered in dismay. "Does he know?"

"His doctor told him today. He didn't take the news well."

"I imagine not," Carver murmured. Deakins turned back to Carver, his expression guarded.

"Who caught this case, Ron? Which precinct?"

"I believe the Two-Seven did," Carver answered. "I know that Jack McCoy has been working in conjunction with Lieutenant van Buren."

"Thankyou," Deakins murmured. "Ron, you can do me a favour, and let Mr McCoy know that he _will_ be hearing from me very soon."

Carver nodded, stepping back and watching wearily as Deakins climbed into his car and drove off.

"I will definitely do that."

* * *

_tbc..._


	6. Interrogations

ADAs Jack McCoy and Ron Carver arrived at Dylan Black's hospital room on the far side of the hospital to be confronted with a sight that reminded them distinctly of a Mexican stand-off. On one side was Black's lawyer and a second man that neither ADA recognised. From his large build, though, both men suspected that he'd been employed to protect Black against cop reprisals.

On the other side stood two detectives from Two-Seven precinct, Lennie Briscoe and Ed Green. Both sides were glaring at each other, and the tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate.

"Mr McCoy," Jake Martyn spoke up tersely as McCoy and Carver approached. "It's about damn time. We were starting to get fed up with trying to hold off these pit bulls here from my client."

"Mr Martyn," McCoy said coolly, ignoring the derogative reference to Briscoe and Green. "I hear you're refusing to allow your client to be questioned at all."

"You think I'm going to let Dylan be questioned by detectives who are incapable of suppressing their own bias? I'm sorry, Mr McCoy, but I have a responsibility to my client to ensure that his rights are upheld."

"_His_ rights?" Briscoe exploded. "What about the rights of the two detectives he tried to kill? He shot them in cold blood!"

"In self defence," Martyn argued. "Detective Goren and Detective Eames were threatening my client. He did what he did in a moment of panic, and I intend to see that he isn't held responsible for that!"

"You can stop grandstanding, Mr Martyn," McCoy cut him off. "We're not in court yet. As for conducting an unbiased interview, you're just going to have to accept Detective Briscoe and Detective Green's method of interrogation. Don't worry, though. I'm sure they'll conduct themselves professionally."

"I'm sure they will," Martyn retorted. "But be that as it may, no one is questioning my client until a representative from IAB arrives."

Silence met the statement, and then Carver spoke incredulously.

"You called Internal Affairs, and asked them to send people to oversee this interview?"

"Mr Martyn, you've stepped over the line…" McCoy growled, but this time it was Martyn's turn to cut him off.

"I told you, Counsellors. I intend to see my client's right upheld and, besides everything else, I think IAB is going to be very interested in what Dylan has to say about the conduct of Detectives Goren and Eames."

"You lousy son of a bitch," Green muttered sourly. Martyn smiled smugly.

"Forgive me for wanting to ensure that the 'buddy-boy' system doesn't win out."

Footsteps alerted them to a new arrival, and they all looked around to see two men approaching.

"I'm Detective John Patrick," the older of the two men spoke. "This is Detective Aaron Jensen. We're with the Internal Affairs Bureau."

Martyn's grin widened.

"Good. _Now_ we can get started."

* * *

It was almost more than the detectives or the two ADAs could stomach as they walked in to be confronted by Dylan Black's smug features.

"Well, aren't I popular all of a sudden," he said with a sneer. Briscoe glared threateningly at him.

"Oh yeah, _real_ popular. We couldn't wait to get a crack at you, Black. In fact, we had to practically draw straws to see who got you."

Green cracked his knuckles ominously, and grinned at Black.

"And we lucked out."

"All right, enough of that," Martyn snapped as Black cringed away from the two detectives. "You will conduct yourself appropriately, or I'll pull the plug on this interview right now, and I promise you'll never get him inside a courtroom."

"Relax, Mr Martyn," McCoy retorted. Then, to everyone's surprise, Detective Patrick spoke up in a bored voice.

"Don't flatter yourself, Mr Black. None of us are particularly thrilled at having to be in the same room with a piece of scum like you. Except, perhaps, your lawyer here."

Black frowned darkly.

"Aren't you with Internal Affairs? You're supposed to be on my side!"

"We're here to get to the truth of what happened, Mr Black," Jensen replied in an equally bored tone. "We're not on any one individual's side. Not yours, and not the detectives that you shot. We're here to find out what really happened. That's all. We are certainly not here for your benefit, just because your lawyer thought he'd contact our office and beat everyone else to the punch. Got it?"

Before either Black or his lawyer had a chance to react, Patrick turned his attention to Briscoe and Green.

"Detectives, please go ahead with your interview. We'll just observe for the moment."

Exchanging looks that were bolstered with new confidence in light of the IAB officers' indifference to Black, Briscoe and Green began their interrogation.

* * *

"Slimy little bastard," Green muttered as they left the room nearly two hours later. He looked around at Patrick and Jensen, who had followed them out. "Tell us you didn't fall for that bullshit back there."

"Well," Jensen ventured, "he tells a pretty convincing story…"

"I don't believe this," Briscoe spat. Patrick laid one hand on his younger partner's shoulder, while holding the other one up defensively to the other men.

"Calm down, people. Let me elaborate on my partner's words. He tells a convincing story, if you don't know Detective Goren or Detective Eames. Now, we don't know either of them personally, of course, but we know their reputation, and we've looked at their records. Neither one has ever done anything even remotely close to what Black is accusing them of. We still need to speak to the detectives, but the truth is I don't think they have much to be worried about. We've studied the forensic analysis of the crime scene, and so far very little of what Black said in there matches with the evidence left behind. Of course, we can't say anything officially yet, until we've completed our investigation, but I will say that between the forensic evidence, and Goren and Eames' individual records, things are not looking good for Mr Black. Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to make arrangements to speak to Detectives Goren and Eames."

"How about that," Briscoe said dryly as Patrick and Jensen strode away down the corridor. "Two IAB cops who actually have souls, and more than half a brain between them. Bobby and Alex might just get a fair go after all."

"I know John Patrick," McCoy mused quietly. "He's a decent cop, and he went into IAB specifically to try and safeguard good cops against being railroaded, like Black is trying to do to Goren and Eames."

"Well," Briscoe said, "all I can say then is thank God he caught the case, and not one of those other soulless bastards they have working for IAB. There are too many assholes there who'd give their right arms to see the likes of Bobby Goren come crashing down. Now, we can concentrate on our own job of nailing Black, and not worry about whether Bobby and Alex will still have jobs to go back to when this is all over."

"You may have difficulties with Detective Goren," Carver warned as they walked away from Black's room.

"Let me guess," Briscoe said dryly. "He's feeling guilty, and he's taking the responsibility for the shooting."

"That's more than likely," Carver agreed, "but it's not what I meant. People… It appears that Detective Goren has been left crippled."

"Define 'crippled', Ron," McCoy said tensely.

"Crippled, as in paraplegic," Carver answered grimly. "He's not expected to walk again."

"Ah, crap," Briscoe muttered.

"Don't worry, Mr Carver," Green promised with quiet sincerity. "We'll get through to him."

* * *

It turned out to be another five or six hours before Briscoe and Green got the go-ahead to interview Bobby and Alex, after learning they had to wait until the morphine he'd received wore off. And only then, after they'd reassured Captain Deakins multiple times that they would treat both detectives with absolute care and respect.

They arrived at Bobby's room later that afternoon to a sight that was both touching and heartbreaking. Alex Eames sat in a wheelchair by Bobby's bed, his right hand clasped in hers while she spoke to him softly. He didn't seem to be responding to her in any way, though. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, and he made not a sound. Alex was not deterred, though, and continued to talk to him as though she had his absolute and complete attention.

As Briscoe and Green entered, Alex looked around, and they were both struck by the depths of sadness in her eyes. It was also painfully clear to them both that she'd shed more than a few tears recently.

"Hey, Bobby, look who's here," she murmured to her unresponsive partner. Her voice, though soft, still sounded strained from crying. "It's Lennie Briscoe, and Ed Green, from the Two-Seven."

Bobby's eyes flickered briefly to the two detectives in the only indication that he was listening to her at all, but then he looked back to the ceiling again without uttering a sound.

"You're here to talk to us about what happened, right?" Alex asked, trying desperately to inject a note of normalcy and professionalism into her tone. Anything to distract her from the knowledge that Bobby was treating her as though she didn't exist. Green nodded and answered quickly, as though he understood her need for verbal distraction.

"Yeah, that's right. We, uh… We really need to talk to you individually, though. If you like, Alex, I can take you out to the waiting lounge just down the hall. Lennie can stay here and talk to Bobby."

With visible reluctance, Alex released her grip on Bobby's hand, and allowed Green to take control of her wheelchair.

"I'll be back soon, Bobby," she told him. "I promise, I'll be right back."

He didn't answer, didn't even look at her. Briscoe watched him thoughtfully, waiting until Green had taken Alex from the room before walking around to the bedside.

"So, you gonna tell me which it is?"

For several seconds, there was no response. Then, slowly, Bobby looked around at Briscoe, his gaze inscrutable. The two men locked stares for nearly a full minute, and Briscoe found himself staring into a pair of brown eyes that reflected more pain and grief than he thought he was capable of comprehending. Finally, Bobby looked away once more, still not uttering a sound. Undeterred, Briscoe tried again.

"So, is it that you're feeling guilty that she got hurt because you fucked up? Or are you just pissed off at her because she'll walk again, and you won't?"

Briscoe's words came at Bobby like a slap in the face, and Bobby flinched visibly before finally speaking in a broken voice.

"I… I'm not angry," he stammered. "Not at Alex. She… she didn't do anything wrong. And… it's not her fault that I'm… that I can't…"

He trailed off, unable to finish. Briscoe nodded calmly.

"So, you're feeling guilty then."

"No… I mean… yes…"

Distress filled his voice, and he looked away miserably. Briscoe nodded his understanding.

"Well, you'd better snap out of it, pal. When Eddie and I came in, it seriously looked like you were royally pissed off at Alex. She's sitting in here with you, in that chair… and I'm telling you, with her injuries that can't be comfortable… and you won't even look at her? What the hell is with that?"

Bobby looked back at Briscoe, a mixture of anger and grief on his face.

"Did you want something in particular, Briscoe?"

Briscoe pulled a tape recorder out of his coat pocket, and set it on the table near Bobby.

"I need to interview you about what happened in that warehouse, Bobby, and I want the no-frills, guilt-free version. Just the facts. Think you can do that?"

Bobby shuddered a little. Could he…? Yes, he decided finally. He could do that.

* * *

At the same time, in the currently empty waiting lounge that was part of the ICU wing, Green had just handed Alex a fresh cup of steaming coffee before sitting down opposite her.

"I hear you're going to make a full recovery," he said with a warm smile. "That's great news, Alex."

Alex, however, could not bring herself to show even a remote amount of enthusiasm.

"Yeah," she said bleakly. "It's wonderful."

Her lacklustre response didn't particularly surprise Green, given the grim news about her partner. Naturally, it would have been hard to be happy after learning that while you were going to make a complete recovery, your partner was not. He decided to try and bypass that particular subject for the time being.

"Alex, I need to get your statement about what happened in the warehouse. Do you think you're up to that?"

"Sure," she conceded half-heartedly. "Why not?"

Green grimaced, hoping that Briscoe was having an easier time of it with Bobby, but at the same time doubting it. He set a miniature tape recorder on the little table beside them, and switched it on.

"This is an interview with Detective Alexandra Eames, from the Major Case Squad on August eighteenth, at ten to four, regarding the shooting incident with Dylan Black. Detective Eames, please tell me what happened when you and Detective Goren went to Dylan Black's warehouse."

Alex hesitated for just a brief moment, gathering her thoughts before speaking.

"Detective Goren and I went to Dylan Black's warehouse to talk to him. We'd tried to get a warrant to search the warehouse previously, but we were refused, so we went back hoping that he'd trip up and say something to give us probable cause… or to be able to get the warrant we needed. Detective Goren was talking to Black, and I stood back by the wall, watching. He was trying to intimidate him…"

"Detective Goren was trying to intimidate Mr Black?"

"Yes. He followed Black all around the floor… He was getting into his face… The usual Goren show. He was talking about Black's relationship with his uncle, the man that we believe Black murdered. Detective Goren believed that Black was sexually abused by his uncle as a boy. He was using that to try and get Black to talk."

"How did Black respond?" Green asked when Alex paused.

"He… He acted very timid and scared to start with."

"To start with?"

Alex drew in a long, shuddering breath.

"It… It happened when Bobby stopped. He looked over at me… I signalled him that it was time to back off…"

"You signalled him how?" Green asked. He was intrigued. He'd heard plenty of rumours of the connection that Bobby Goren and Alex Eames had, and of their uncanny ability to communicate almost telepathically.

"A look was enough," Alex answered. "He knew, and then he took a step or two back…"

"Detective Goren backed _away_ from Black?" Green asked in a suddenly tense voice. "Are you absolutely positive about that?"

"Yes," Alex answered without hesitation. "I am. He backed off to give Black a little breathing room. That was when Black moved. It… It happened so fast, I wasn't quick enough to stop him. Neither was Bobby. Black just grabbed Bobby's wrist. His left wrist… He broke it. I heard the bone snap. Then, he dislocated Bobby's left shoulder, as well. He… He grabbed Bobby's gun, and then he shot him four times. Why did he have to shoot him four times?"

"So, Detective Goren never had his gun out at any time?" Green wondered, and Alex shook her head decisively.

"No, he didn't. We weren't there to arrest Black. Only to talk to him. We weren't anticipating that he'd just blow like that. Neither of us were expecting any trouble from him."

Green felt a rush of excitement that he had to struggle to hide. That statement was in direct conflict with Black's accusation that Bobby had held a gun to his head, and threatened to shoot him, and Alex's words were far more believable that Black's hysterical ranting.

"All right. So what happened after he shot Detective Goren?"

"I pulled out my gun, but he'd already turned and started shooting at me. I was hit three times. I managed to shoot back as I went down, and I guess I winged him, because he dropped Bobby's gun. He was going to kill me, though. With or without a gun… and I wasn't able to shoot again. He kicked my gun away, and he said 'I'm going to kill you'… or something like that. But there was another gunshot, and Black fell. I thought it was back-up, but it wasn't. It… It was Bobby. He dragged himself across the floor to get to his gun, and he managed to shoot Black. I guess Black didn't have any fight left in him after that, because he got up and took off." She paused, and then shook her head. "I… I'm sorry. It gets pretty hazy after that. I don't really remember anything much else."

"You're doing great, Detective Eames," Green told her encouragingly. "Tell me, can you remember specifically what sort of things Detective Goren said to Black?"

Alex sighed softly. She was tired, miserable and hurting, and she certainly did not want to be remembering what had happened in that warehouse.

"I remember him telling Black that he understood him. He… He said that he hadn't been sexually abused like Black had been, but he had been physically abused by his mom and dad. So, he could sympathise. He knew why Black felt so much rage." Alex shuddered. "He got inside Black's head, and he pitied him. I… I think that Black saw that to… and that's what pushed him over the edge. He didn't want pity from anyone, but especially not from a cop."

Green was silent, wondering how he could raise the accusations that Black had made without tipping Alex off. The last thing she needed was to have the added burden of knowing there was a formal complaint against her and Bobby from the man who had shot them both. Especially, he thought grimly, considering Bobby Goren's physical condition. He was still thinking it over when Alex suddenly spoke.

"That was it."

"What was what?" Green asked, baffled.

"What triggered the attack," Alex explained shakily. "Bobby… he was standing in front of Black and he said… he said 'I pity you, Dylan. You didn't have any control when you were a child, and you still don't now that you're an adult, but that's not your fault. You're still going to have pay the penalty for it, but it isn't your fault. I really do pity you'." Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "Bobby's always been good at finding which buttons to push to but this time he was a little too good at it. He… He looked at me then, and he nodded to show he understood. It was time to go. There wasn't anything more we could gain by staying there. And that was when Black grabbed Bobby… broke his wrist… shot him… He kept shooting him… and Bobby… He looked so surprised, like he had no idea it was coming. I… I guess he didn't, really. Neither of us did. There was no reason… no sense to it. Bobby actually felt sorry for that piece of scum, and now he's never going to walk again because of him!"

Green shifted forward as she began to cry, and hugged her gently in reassurance.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked in between hiccupping sobs.

"No," Green murmured as he finally sat back. "That's all I need right now. Interview terminated at four-twenty-five." He switched off the recorder, and offered her a warm smile. "You did just fine, Alex. Now listen, there are a couple of guys from IAB here, but they're okay. As long as you and Bobby are straight-forward with them, you'll be fine. Okay?"

"I will be," she assured him. "But I really don't know what Bobby might do. He's so lost at the moment, it's scaring me to death."

"Lennie will sort him out over that," Green promised her. "Try not to worry about him, okay?"

"Easier said than done," she said softly. "You know he hasn't said a word to me since this morning? He wouldn't even look at me before."

"Yeah, we noticed," Green murmured. "Hang in there, Alex. He'll find his way forward sooner or later. Hopefully sooner, rather than later."

* * *

Briscoe and Green left ICU together, and were on their way out of the hospital when they ran into Patrick and Jensen, who were on their way in.

"You guys headed up to ICU?" Briscoe asked, and Patrick nodded.

"Yeah. That where you've just come from?"

"Yeah," Briscoe confirmed. "Listen, tread carefully with Goren. He's not doing so great at the moment."

"Physically?" Jensen wondered. "That's not surprising, considering the battering he took."

"The physical side is only a part of it," Green told them. "Emotionally, he's pretty wasted."

"You haven't heard yet, have you?" Briscoe asked suddenly, drawing confused looks from both Patrick and Jensen.

"Heard what?" Patrick asked, and Briscoe answered grimly.

"Goren's paralysed. One of the bullets he took hit his spine, or something like that. He's not going to walk again."

"Ah, hell," Patrick muttered. "So… no matter what the results of our investigation are, his career as a cop is over."

"Pretty much," Green confirmed.

"Okay," Patrick said grimly. "Thanks for the heads-up, guys. Listen, could we get copies of your interviews with Goren and Eames? So we can compare them? If the stories you got from them match whatever we get, then they'll pretty much in the clear."

"You got it," Briscoe agreed.

* * *

Despite Alex's very vehement protests, her doctor ordered her back to her own room for the evening meal and to receive her night time medication, rather than allowing her to return to Bobby's room as she had promised him. She protested furiously, but to no avail, and in the end she could do nothing but sit and fume as the orderly wheeled her out of the ICU wing, and over to the elevator.

The doors of the elevator slid open, but before the orderly could push her inside, two men in suits appeared – men that Alex immediately pegged for being cops and, most likely, Internal Affairs. She felt an instant dislike permeate her senses, and had to struggle to suppress it, remembering what Green had said to her about the two men.

"You must be Detective Eames," Patrick said as they stepped out into the corridor. Alex eyed them sceptically.

"And you must be from Internal Affairs."

"Guilty as charged," Patrick admitted with a shrug and a wry smile. "We were just heading to ICU to talk to your partner."

Alarm flashed across Alex's features at that. When Green had told her that IAB were around, she'd expected that she and Bobby would have to deal with them tomorrow. She couldn't imagine her traumatised partner being able to cope with an IAB interrogation on top of being interviewed by the likes of Lennie Briscoe.

"Now?" she asked anxiously. "Can't it wait? Can't you give him some more time?"

"Detective Eames," Jensen said quietly, "we're not here to make things worse for either one of you. We just want to get the complete picture of what happened in that warehouse."

"We know Detective Goren is going through a very difficult time right now," Patrick went on, "and we definitely do not want to do anything to make it worse for him. But you know that we need to talk to him… and you… as soon as possible."

"A difficult time," Alex retorted bitterly. "Do you know how much of an understatement that is? And do you even know _why_ he's having such a difficult time?"

"We know he's paralysed," Patrick told her, and Alex quickly looked away as her eyes filled with tears once more.

"He didn't die," she said shakily, "but I've lost my partner all the same."

"Don't make assumptions, Detective," Patrick admonished her gently. "Anything could happen."

Alex looked up at him incredulously.

"Anything? The nerves in his spine were severed, Detective Patrick. So unless you can work miracles, or you know someone who can, my partner is going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. _Can_ you give Bobby back the ability to walk?"

Patrick sighed softly.

"I wish I could, Detective Eames. I really do."

* * *

Bobby heard movement just outside the door of his room, and relief flooded through him. Alex _was_ coming back after all, just as she'd promised she would when Ed Green took her out. After Briscoe had left, he'd lain there in quiet terror as it occurred to him that perhaps he had pushed it that one step too far in his refusal to talk to her or even look at her.

He'd wanted her to understand that his behaviour had not been meant as a personal slight towards her. It was simply that he couldn't cope with it all right then. It was hard enough lying in bed, staring at the legs that he no longer had any control over…

He lifted up the blankets briefly to look at the now useless limbs… even the family jewels… which no longer functioned properly… or at all; tried to comprehend the future in store for him as a paraplegic, and his mind just about went into meltdown.

He dropped the blankets again and shuddered violently and uncontrollably. No, it was not a personal slight against Alex. He was just plain terrified, and he didn't know how to deal with it. All of his life, shutting down had been the only way he'd been able to cope with being seriously afraid, and some habits were impossible to break. He wasn't shutting Alex out with the intention of hurting her. He was shutting down in an instinctive attempt to protect himself from further harm – physical, mental and emotional.

He'd been terrified that she would just not bother to come back, despite her promise, and with every minute that passed it became easier to convince himself of that. But hearing someone approaching gave him fresh hope and he watched the doorway eagerly, determining to make a genuine effort to communicate with her when she came back in.

A moment later, his feeling of relief was shattered when two men that he did not recognise walked into the room.

Bobby's stomach rolled unpleasantly as he realised no one else was with them. No Alex… no one. She wasn't coming back after all…

"Detective Goren," Patrick said quietly, aware of the stark disappointment that lit up the bed-ridden man's face, "I'm Detective John Patrick, and this is my partner, Detective Aaron Jensen. We're with IAB. We need to talk to you about the incident at Dylan Black's warehouse."

Bobby stared at him momentarily, and then his gaze went back to the open doorway.

"Are you waiting for someone, Detective Goren?" Jensen asked.

"My… my partner," Bobby admitted, despising the way his voice shook. "She was being interviewed by Detective Green, from the Two-Seven. She… said she'd come back afterwards."

The two IAB detectives exchanged rueful looks. Alex had very obviously been on her way back to her own hospital room when they'd met up with her although, granted, she hadn't looked at all happy about it. But how to tell Bobby so that he didn't just shut down on them…?

"She was coming back," Jensen said, opting to wing it and hoping his partner caught on. "We intercepted her, in a manner of speaking. We're very sorry, Detective Goren, but we do need to speak to you separately, so we told the orderly to take her back to her room. We promise that we'll keep this as brief as possible, though, and hopefully her doctor will let her come back up to see you after dinner."

Bobby considered that for a long moment before speaking tentatively.

"She… _was_ going to come back?"

"Yes, she was," Patrick confirmed, quickly catching on. "She was pretty pissed off at us, actually, for not letting that happen. Your partner's quite a spitfire, Detective. It doesn't surprise me at all that she had the gumption stay conscious long enough to radio for help for the both of you. You must have a lot of respect for her."

It was clearly the right thing to say. Even as they watched, Bobby visibly relaxed, reassured by their praise of his partner, and relieved by their reassurances that Alex had not lied to him about returning.

"Okay," he conceded finally. "I… I'll talk to you."

"Thankyou, Detective," Patrick said. "We're going to record this, okay? So, hopefully, we'll only need to bother you just this once."

He set a tape recorder on the table beside the bed, and switched it on, giving his name and his partner's, as well as the date and time before asking his first question.

"Detective Goren, please tell us why you and Detective Eames went to Dylan Black's warehouse."

"Dylan Black was our only suspect in the murder of his uncle, Colin Black, but we didn't have solid evidence about it. We wanted to search his warehouse... My partner and I believed that there was evidence there that would link him to the murder, but our ADA wouldn't give us a warrant. We decided to go back there to talk to Black. I thought that maybe I could catch Black out."

"Catch him out in what way?" Patrick asked. Bobby was silent for a moment before answering.

"I... I'm a profiler. I get inside people's heads. It's how I trip them up, trick them into giving themselves up. I thought I could do that with Black. I suspected he'd been abused by his uncle, and that was why he'd killed him. It was a rage killing. Colin Black had been stabbed twenty-three times, and then shot once... in the genitals."

Both Patrick and Jensen winced at the thought. Bobby went on, oblivious to their reaction.

"When we got there, Eames stayed back. She watched... and let me talk to Black."

"Were you aggressive in the way you spoke to Black?" Jensen asked, taking care to keep his tone even and calm. Bobby considered that before replying.

"Yes... Verbally aggressive," he admitted. "I followed him around the floor, talking about his uncle... about what his uncle had done to him. I talked about how he had no control over his actions. All he knew was rage..." Bobby trailed off, and a look of dismay filled his face. "Rage... I... I never saw it. I should have seen it..."

Patrick and Jensen exchanged glances. They knew where Bobby's train of thought was headed, and neither one could say or do a thing to stop it without jeopardising their objectivity.

"What do you think you should have seen, Detective?" Patrick asked, hating himself for pushing a line of questioning that could potentially result in Bobby sinking into an even deeper misery than before, but having no choice.

"Black's rage," Bobby said in a strained voice. "He only knew rage. We'd dealt with another killer once before who was like that. The only emotion he truly knew how to express was rage, and we knew how careful we had to be when we took him down. Black was exactly the same. He only knew how to express rage. Everything else was just a facade. I should have seen the danger, but I didn't. I... was just looking for a result that would get us what we wanted. I kept pushing the fact of the sexual abuse at Black, harder and harder. Then I saw Eames looking at me. She... She was telling me that it was time to stop, time to back off."

"Your partner was telling you?" Jensen queried. "She actually told you to back off?"

"No... She just had to look. I know the different looks she gives me. That one... it said it was time to step away. I did... and that was when Black grabbed my wrist."

"When you say you stepped away," Patrick asked, "do you mean that literally? Or just figuratively?"

"Literally. I literally stepped away. Black sort of lunged at me. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it. I remember a lot of pain... In my wrist, and then in my shoulder... Black grabbed my gun out its holster and..."

"_Out_ of your holster?" Patrick echoed. "He actually reached over and took your gun out of your holster, and not out of your hand?"

"No," Bobby said with a weary sigh. "I never took my gun out while we were there. I never saw any need. I... I thought I could talk my way through it." He paused, as the question suddenly sank into his exhausted mind. "What do you mean, _not out of his hand_?"

"We're just trying to determine exactly what happened, Detective Goren."

Bobby stared piercingly at Patrick.

"Where is Dylan Black?"

"In custody," Patrick answered, doing his level best to hold Bobby's stare. "He won't be going anywhere quickly."

"But... he's said things... Things that have raised questions about mine and Eames' conduct. What did he say?"

"You're very perceptive, Detective Goren. But here's the thing. We need for you to not think about that right now. What we need is for you to keep on telling us what happened, from your perspective, straight up. Can you do that?"

Bobby continued to stare at Patrick for nearly a minute before conceding and going on with his story.

"Black took my gun out of my holster and he shot me... four times. I... I remember falling, and then I hit the floor. I... don't remember much else. It's not very clear... But I remember watching Black walk towards Eames. She was on the floor too... and there was blood. So much blood... I remember thinking he was going to kill her... and then I saw my gun. It was on the floor. I... think I dragged myself across and picked it up... and I think I managed to shoot Black once. I... I don't remember anything after that."

"Okay, Detective," Patrick murmured. "That's great. I think that's everything we need. Interview terminated at seventeen-oh-five." He switched off the recorder, and then looked back at Bobby, pausing to take in his pale features. "You've probably already guessed that Black's version of events are considerably different to yours, but I want you to believe me when I say that you have nothing to worry about. I know I probably shouldn't say it, but I'm going to anyway. We've heard Black's version of what happened, and when we line up his version against yours, there's only one version that is supported by the forensic evidence that CSU have analysed, and it's not Black's."

"He... He made a complaint against us, didn't he?"

Patrick smiled wryly.

"You really are incredibly perceptive. Yes, he has, but between his less than honest account of what happened, and your very impressive records, again you have nothing to worry about."

"You don't belong in IAB," Bobby mumbled, starting to lose out to the exhaustion that was taking hold of him. "You're too... too considerate."

Patrick chuckled softly.

"Yeah, so we've been told more than once. Listen, Detective, we know how bad things must seem for you at the moment, but it's not going to last."

"It's not going to last," Bobby echoed softly. "Detective Patrick, _I can't walk_. My legs are paralysed, permanently. Don't… don't stand there and tell me it's not going to last."

"We're just trying to say you need to hold on," Jensen said. "Hold on and things will eventually get better."

Bobby turned a bitter look on the younger man.

"My… my career is over. My career was my whole life. Tell me, Detective Jensen, exactly what am I supposed to hold on for?"

Patrick leaned in closer to him, unperturbed by the other man's distress.

"How about that partner of yours? She's not giving up on you. Do you really want to disappoint her by giving up on yourself?"

Anger flashed across Bobby's face.

"Screw you," he snarled. "You have no right to talk about Alex. You don't know her, and you don't know me!"

"We know you have the reputation of being one of the best partnerships in the NYPD," Patrick answered back firmly. "And we know that no decent cop worth his badge would give that up without a fight. Are you going to prove us wrong?"

The anger faded as fast as it had appeared, and Bobby looked away from them in grief.

"I don't know," he whispered, stricken. "I… don't know what to do."

"That's easy," Patrick replied as he stepped away from the bed. "Don't give up, Detective."

And then they were gone. Bobby was barely aware of their departure, lost as he was within a storm of misery and despair. And, in the silence that followed, Bobby Goren wept.

* * *

_tbc..._

A/N: _I was quite surprised by the attitude of the IAB officers in this chapter. But apparently the muse decided Bobby had enough to worry about without IAB on his case as well. Also, I know this chapter was rather bleak, but I think that Bobby might get a little boost in the next chapter..._


	7. Reconnecting

It was the following morning before Alex was finally able to return to Bobby's side. By the time IAB had finished talking to her the previous evening, she had been in more than a little amount of pain, in particular from her shoulder. Her doctor had come in to check her over, and had prescribed something that the nurse had given her by way of injection. The next thing she knew, it was ten o'clock the next morning.

After wolfing down her breakfast as fast as her mother and the duty nurse would allow her to, Alex was back in the wheelchair and on her way back up to the ICU.

They reached the elevator just as the doors slid open, and Alex breathed a quiet sigh of relief to see Fin there, and not Frank. As much as Frank seemed to be genuine in his concern for his little brother, she just didn't think she had it in her to be even mildly pleasant to the older man. In her personal opinion, all the care and concern he might have been displaying now did precious little to make up for his neglect of previous years.

"Hey, Fin," she murmured as the orderly guided the wheelchair into the elevator, and he leaned down and graced her forehead with a light kiss.

"Hey, girl. How are you feeling?"

"Getting better slowly," she admitted. "But..."

"I know," he assured her. "There's still a long way to go... for both of you."

She grimaced and looked away. That had to be the biggest understatement she'd heard for a long time. Sensing his unintentional faux pas, Fin quickly switched subjects.

"I heard you had to talk to IAB last night."

"Yes. They talked to Bobby first, and then to me."

Fin felt a twinge of concern at that, and hoped intently that Bobby hadn't gone and shot himself in the foot, metaphorically-speaking.

"Do you think it went okay?"

Alex paused in answering. She didn't really know how Bobby's interview had gone, but she'd gotten a strong sense from them that it hadn't been so bad. She also recalled with some degree of bemusement her own interview with the IAB detectives.

"Well," she said finally, "let's just say that they didn't act in the way that you'd expect anyone from IAB to act. They actually seemed to be listening to me, and the questions they asked... They didn't try to twist anything I said to make it sound like Bobby and I had done anything wrong. And when they were done... after they'd turned off their tap recorder... they told me to look after Bobby, and not to get frustrated with him... That he needed me now more than ever."

Fin raised an eyebrow at her incredulously.

"You sure they were from IAB? Sure doesn't sound like IAB."

Alex had to smile at his tone.

"I know. It was bizarre... but appreciated, too. They... knew about Bobby... about him being paralysed, I mean. And they were kind about it. Sympathetic... I didn't expect that from them."

"And they actually told you to take care of Bobby?" Fin wondered. Alex nodded, turning her gaze downward as fresh tears suddenly threatened.

"Yes. And I want to, Fin... But he's not letting me! He totally shut me out yesterday, and he wouldn't let me in at all. He wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't even look at me! He acted like I didn't even exist."

"And you think he's angry with you?" Fin wondered. Her answer came in a breathless whisper, so soft that Fin had to struggle to hear.

"Yes."

He sighed softly. As much as he understood Bobby's fear and pain right then, if he was going to treat his partner so indifferently, then perhaps a different method of dealing with him was called for. Right now, though, he needed to offer some solid reassurance to the woman in the wheelchair beside him.

"He's not angry with you, Alex. He's angry with himself, and he's saved, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. You know what he's like."

Alex grimaced. Yes, she knew, only too well.

They arrived at the doors to the ICU wing, and Fin deliberately stepped in to take control of the wheelchair, edging the orderly out.

"I'll take over." He paused, taking in the annoyed look the orderly gave him, and smiled. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of her. I'd have the whole of Major Case on my ass if I didn't, right, Alex?"

She had to laugh softly, even though she didn't feel so much like it.

"Absolutely."

The orderly conceded, if somewhat reluctantly, and Fin proceeded to push Alex through into ICU.

"I've never seen him like he was yesterday, Fin," she said quietly, unhappily. "After Dr Fielding told him about his legs, he just went so cold. He hates having to take any kind of medication, but he actually asked Dr Fielding to sedate him. For him to ask that..."

"I know," Fin agreed. "But I've seen him shut down like that before."

Alex looked up at him, puzzled.

"When?"

"When we were kids, after he found out what was really wrong with his mom. After he found out that she wasn't ever going to get better. He shut down then, too. Couldn't get a word out of him for three weeks. He'll come out of this sooner or later, Alex, but you've gotta be patient and give him a chance. It's gonna take time for him to sort through everything."

She drew in an unsteady breath. Fin's words weren't exactly giving her comfort.

"I understand that, Fin. I really do. But..."

"But?"

All of a sudden, she couldn't see for the tears, and when she spoke it was in a voice that she barely recognised as being her own.

"I'm hurting too, Fin! I... I can't look after us both right now. I just can't..."

Fin slowed to a halt, and then walked around and crouched down in front of her, taking her free hand in his and squeezing it gently.

"I know, Alex. And believe me, no one's expecting you to. I don't believe Bobby is, either, but right now he's in a dark place where he just can't respond to you. So until he can, you're gonna have to trust the rest of us to look after you. Think you can do that?"

She returned his stare with the look of one who had just about been pushed beyond the limits of her endurance.

"Do I have a choice?" she asked softly, and he smiled warmly at her in response.

"No, sweetie. You don't."

Alex sighed again, and settled back in the wheelchair. Though submitting herself into the care of others – emotionally as well as physically – was usually a foreign and unwelcome concept to her, in this instance she found herself surprisingly willing to concede. She was tired, and she was hurting, and she barely had the energy to support herself, let alone Bobby as well. If there were others, like Fin, who were willing to shoulder the responsibility for a while, then who was she to argue?

They passed the nurses' station, and arrived at Bobby room. Fin paused just outside the door, curiosity raised by the sound of voices coming from within, one of which sounded distinctly childish.

He and Alex exchanged a puzzled look, and then he went ahead and pushed Alex around the corner into Bobby's room.

* * *

Sophie stood outside the doors into the ICU wing for the longest time, wanting desperately to go in but also afraid of what she might be confronted with. She wasn't a child who was naturally inclined to feel fear, but her young mind had reasoned that there had to be something very frightening behind those doors since she had not been allowed to go in even once.

She didn't believe the tale her mother had told her about having germs that she might pass on to her uncle. She'd washed her hands every day with a thoroughness that was markedly un-childlike, and had bathed every night in their hotel. She was as clean as her mother and father, so that excuse was just that – an excuse to keep her out.

Sophie looked around nervously. Her parents thought she was in the hospital child care centre, where they'd left her each day after that first long day when she'd been left sitting alone outside the doors of the ICU. She'd slipped out while the lady in charge had been busy feeding a bottle to a baby, and she figured she didn't have long before someone came looking for her. If she was going to act, it had to be now.

Steeling herself as only a child could, Sophie slipped through the doors into the Intensive Care Unit, and began her search for her uncle.

* * *

Bobby stared at the bowl in front of him with more than a little distaste. His doctor had expressed a wish the previous evening that he begin to try and digest a little bit of food. Not much to start with, of course, but something. That 'something' had been delivered to him half an hour ago in the form of a small bowl of what he had been assured was porridge, but had the consistency of week-old glue. He'd requested a little bit of milk and honey to make it a bit more palatable, only to be told his stomach wasn't ready to handle anything as sweet as honey.

Then the nurse had gone again before he'd had a chance to ask if he could at least have a little bit of milk. Now, he half sat up, stirring at the gluggy mass in the bowl, wondering if it were at all possible to swallow any of it without having it come straight back up again.

He found himself wishing desperately for one of those mornings when he'd meet Alex and they'd enjoy coffee and whatever they happened to feel like at the time, whether it happened to be a Danish, or a bagel...

And with that desire came a powerful feeling of misery as he recalled once more his treatment of Alex the previous day. He wanted more than anything to be able to tell her that he hadn't meant to push her away from him, and that he was sorry. But she'd not come back, and he was starting to wonder just how much the IAB detectives had really had to do with that. He still clung to their story, though. The alternative – that she'd not been bothered to come back – was far too painful to contemplate.

Suddenly feeling sick, he shoved the mobile table away. He misjudged his own effort, though, and the jerking motion sent the bowl sliding clean off the top, and the contents slopping messily on the floor.

"Fuck," he cursed softly, feeling his already depressed mood deteriorate even further. Sighing, he started to reach for the button that would summon a nurse to his room, when he realised he was no longer alone.

Standing just inside the door of his room was a small child, a young girl who he guessed was maybe seven or eight. She was standing there nervously, watching him with wide eyes, and he found himself having to swallow an urge to snap at her. Instead, he looked away in an effort to suppress his temper.

"Hi."

It was said tentatively. Bobby looked back at her slowly. He didn't like showing any anger at all towards children, but he was having a very hard time keeping from doing just that. When he spoke, it was in a deliberately low voice.

"You shouldn't be in here."

Rather than going, as he'd hoped she might, the child ventured further into the room.

"I know," she admitted. Her gaze went to the spilt food, and then she looked back at Bobby quizzically. "Would you like me to clean that up for you? I don't mind, and Mommy said I'm very good at cleaning up."

Bobby felt his heart melt just a little in the face of her sincerity.

"It's okay," he told her quietly. "Someone else will do that."

"Why did you spill it? Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," Bobby answered. _Not for that slop_, he added silently. He watched as she came around slowly to the side of the bed and, with a childish curiosity that Bobby found endearing, she lifted up his right hand gently and turned it around so that she could look at the name on his hospital bracelet.

"Robert O. Goren." She looked up at him and a wide smile lit up her young face. "You're my Uncle Bobby. My daddy is your big brother."

And then realisation sank in.

"Sophie... You're Sophie. How did you get in here?"

"I snuck in," Sophie confessed, and it was all Bobby could do not to laugh at the pride in her voice as she said it. "I asked every day to see you, and Mommy and Daddy kept telling me no. They said I might have germs that'll make you sick, but I had a bath every single night in our hotel, and I washed my hands and my face before we came to the hospital. But they still said no, so I had to sneak in."

He did chuckle, then, at her matter of fact attitude, and the way she explained it as though it was so simple. He squeezed her hand very lightly.

"It's nice to meet you, Sophie."

Adult and child locked gazes momentarily, and Bobby suddenly found himself under a similar scrutiny to which he had subjected many a suspect. It was a disconcerting experience, he reflected dimly.

Withdrawing her hand from his, Sophie turned away, and Bobby experienced an unsettling feeling that she was going to leave. Instead, he watched in growing curiosity as she dragged one of the chairs over to the bedside, and climbed up on it in order to see him better.

"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked softly, looking at his all-too-visible injuries with a sweet, childish concern.

"Not at the moment," he answered honestly. He'd received his current dose of painkillers not too long ago, and consequently was not hurting too much at all right then. Sophie regarded him with a mixture of awkwardness and guilt.

"I was going to give you a big hug when I met you, but I'm scared to do that, in case I hurt you. I didn't want to hurt you."

Bobby felt tears sting his eyes, and he reached out to briefly cup her cheek before dropping his hand to her shoulder.

"You... You won't hurt me, Sophie. I... I'd like a hug from you."

Smiling happily, Sophie leaned in gently against him, slipping her slender arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. Bobby laid his right arm across Sophie's tiny form, and couldn't quite suppress the tremors that passed through him, or the tears that filled his eyes at the simple trust shown by a child he had only just met.

"Don't cry, Uncle Bobby," Sophie whispered. "I'll look after you."

She turned her head, and kissed him briefly on the cheek before resuming her hug.

"Well, ain't this a sight!"

Sophie started up so quickly at the unexpected voice that she inadvertently bumped one of Bobby's wounds, and he grunted in pain. Horror filled the little girl's face at the realisation that she had caused her uncle pain after all.

"I'm sorry!" she burst out, tears filling her eyes. "Uncle Bobby, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," he told her, struggling to keep his voice even. "Really. It... It's okay, Sophie."

Fin chuckled as he pushed Alex all the way into the room.

"He'll be fine, sweetheart. Don't you worry about him."

Sophie looked around at Fin, a sheepish look on her face.

"I kinda snuck in."

"Yeah, I figured you must've," Fin said with a laugh. He wheeled Alex over to the side of the bed, and then reached over and lifted the little girl up. "How about you sit a bit further along here, so Alex can have the chair. Okay?"

He sat Sophie down with care on the edge of the bed, and then turned his attention to helping Alex out of the wheelchair, and into the higher chair, where she could easily reach Bobby.

She noted silently that he was watching her nervously. Nervous, she guessed after their afternoon of non-communication the previous day. In answer to his silent question, she reached up and laid her palm across his. She was filled with relief when he closed his hand around hers, and squeezed lightly.

"Hey," he whispered, and she favoured him with a warm smile.

"Hey, you."

"I... I'm sorry... Yesterday..."

She tightened her grip on his hand.

"Don't apologise, Bobby. Just don't shut me out. We're in this together, remember."

He appreciated her compassion and understanding more than he could fully express and, rather than try to respond he opted instead for directing her attention to the little girl sitting on the bed and watching them with bright eyes.

"This is my... my niece... Sophie."

Alex favoured the little girl with a smile.

"Hi, Sophie. Nice to meet you finally. I'm Alex."

"I saw your picture on the TV," Sophie said. "You work with Uncle Bobby, don't you?"

"That's right," Alex confirmed. "We're partners, Sophie."

It didn't escape Bobby's attention that Alex spoke in the present tense about their partnership, and not in the past tense. He felt a brief moment of bitterness and anger, but that was rapidly washed away by a feeling of warmth and hope. It struck at him deeply that even though he couldn't see a way out of the terrible situation he was in, his feisty partner could still stir in him feelings of hope. He truly loved her for that.

"You have an accident, pal?"

Bobby looked at Fin, startled out of his reverie, and spoke in irritation.

"What are you talking about?"

Fin motioned to the upended bowl on the floor.

"I'm talking about that. You have a little temper tantrum, buddy? Didn't wanna be a good boy and eat your breakfast?"

"Shut up," Bobby muttered, barely managing to stop himself from adding 'asshole' while Sophie was there. "Would you eat that slop?"

"No," Fin mused, as he peered at the globular mess on the floor. "I guess not."

"Dr Fielding wants you to start eating, huh?" Alex asked, and Bobby answered with a quick nod.

"Yes. And _that's_ what they brought for me."

"I hate to break the news to you, bud," Fin said in mock seriousness, "but you aren't quite ready for steak yet."

"Very funny," Bobby snapped. "I _know_ that. But even some toast and eggs would have been better than that."

"Are you hungry?" Alex wondered, and Bobby shook his head gloomily in answer.

"No. Not really."

She understood that, only too well, and she knew that his lack of appetite probably had more to do with emotional trauma than physical. She knew she'd felt exactly the same when they'd first tried to get her to eat something, and she didn't really feel much better now. She wasn't the least bit surprised that Bobby had no appetite, especially for the kind of slop which now adorned the floor.

"I'll talk to Mom," she suggested gently. "She's been bringing food in for me every day, and I know she'd be happy to do the same for you. Maybe she could bring in some soup and some of her home-made bread? And maybe a bit of scrambled eggs for something a bit more solid?"

She braced herself for his refusal, and was both surprised and pleased when he accepted the offer with quiet grace and a grateful smile.

"I… I'd like that. Thankyou."

"I like eggs," Sophie spoke up suddenly. "Eggs, with cheese and ketchup!"

Bobby groaned and shut his eyes, drawing laughter from both Fin and Alex.

"Sophie, honey," Fin said in between chuckles, "I think that maybe that combination is a little more than your uncle can stomach at right now."

Sophie smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry. Daddy says I have… unique tastes."

"That one is definitely unique," Alex agreed. Sophie reached over and patted Bobby's hand affectionately.

"I didn't mean to upset your tummy, Uncle Bobby."

"It's okay," Bobby reassured her with a tired smile. "You haven't upset me at all."

"Oh, good," Sophie enthused. "Because Daddy said I couldn't come see you yet because I might upset you, even though I didn't mean to."

Bobby squeezed her tiny hand gently.

"We'll tell your dad that you definitely did not do that, and that you helped to make me feel a little bit better."

Sophie's face lit up like a beacon at his words, and her entire body literally radiated happiness which, in turn, put a genuine smile on Bobby's face.

"Really?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Really." He paused, his gaze flickering to the doorway. "In fact, it looks like we'll get to tell him right now."

They all looked to see Frank Goren walk in, looking non-too-happy.

"There you are, you little monkey," he growled, his gaze focused on his daughter. "Your mother and I have been looking everywhere for you! I should have known that you'd be in here. I thought we talked this over?"

"But I wanted to see Uncle Bobby!" Sophie protested. "And you and Mommy kept saying no, so I had to sneak in!"

Frowning, Frank reached out to lift her off the bed.

"Fine, you've seen him. Now it's time to go."

"No!" Sophie argued, shying away from him. "I don't wanna go yet. I wanna stay with Uncle Bobby!"

"I don't think so, pumpkin. Uncle Bobby needs a lot of rest, and he's not going to get that with you around."

Sophie's face fell at her father's words, but before Frank had a chance to pick her up, Bobby spoke up for her.

"I want her to stay."

Frank hesitated, looking to his brother uncertainly.

"That's good of you to say that, Bobby, but you don't need to…"

"I'm not just saying it to make anyone feel better," Bobby said as firmly as he was able to. "Except me, that is. She… She helps me to feel better."

Frank stared at Bobby for several seconds, looking as though he was going to dispute his brother's words, but instead he relaxed, smiled and nodded.

"Okay. I shouldn't really be surprised, mind you. I swear, this kid could put a smile on anyone's face."

"So I can stay?" Sophie asked hopefully, and Frank sighed in defeat.

"All right, yes. You can stay, as long as it's okay with your uncle."

The mile-wide grin was back, and she promptly returned her attention to Bobby.

"Would you like me to read to you, Uncle Bobby? I can read really good."

Bobby chuckled softly, touched by the offer.

"Maybe later, Sophie. Maybe if your dad will bring a newspaper up…?"

"Hint taken," Frank said with a wry grin. "I'll go get one for you now, if you like. What would you prefer to have? The Times…?"

"That would be good," Bobby agreed appreciatively.

"What about magazines?" Frank wondered, and before Bobby had a chance to respond, Alex and Fin responded for him in unison.

"The Smithsonian," they said together, exchanged looks, and promptly burst out laughing. Frank chuckled in amusement.

"Might've known. Okay, how about I see if I can grab a copy of that, The Times, and maybe a National Geographic? Think that might be enough to keep you occupied for a while?"

Bobby couldn't conceal his gratitude, not only at the consideration shown to him by Frank, but also at the fact that for once he wasn't being mocked for his choice of reading material.

"Thankyou," he murmured.

"Okay," Frank said. His gaze went to his daughter, who sat happily on the edge of the bed. "And you behave yourself. No bouncing around in here."

"Yes, Daddy."

Rolling his eyes, Frank left the room.

"Still can't believe his change of attitude," Fin mused. "I just hope he means it."

Bobby said nothing, but just quietly he shared Fin's scepticism. As much as he wanted to believe that Frank was being genuine in his concern for him, past experience warned him otherwise. The brother he knew only too well was little more than a carbon copy of their father – a hard-drinking, abusive gambling addict, and Bobby knew from bitter experience that few men like that ever truly changed their ways. All he could hope was that in this instance, he was wrong.

His gaze went back to Alex, and she returned his stare silently, radiating support and love. A faint sigh escaped him, and he felt some of the anxiety and anguish of the last twenty-four hours melt out of him as he felt their emotional connection strengthen once more.

Maybe he was wrong about his brother, and maybe he was right. All he cared about right at that moment was the petite woman sitting at his bedside, and the little girl perched at the end of the bed. Beyond that, nothing mattered to him. Nothing at all.

* * *

_tbc..._


	8. A Long, Dark Tunnel To Nowhere

A/N: _This chapter turned out to be a lot less dark than I'd originally intended. Plus, I'd seriously considered finishing it on a 'did he or didn't he?' style cliffhanger... and decided not to. I know I'm a bitch, but I can be nice. Sometimes._

* * *

Frank returned half an hour later with the promised reading material and, to the amusement of all, Sophie took The Times and began to read the articles out in a clear, practised voice. When Bobby expressed interest in something in particular, she would wait patiently for the adults to discuss it before going on to a new article.

Sophie continued doing that until she came to the editorial page, where she gave a chirp of surprise.

"This one's about you and Detective Alex, Uncle Bobby!"

While Bobby and Alex exchanged suddenly unsettled looks, Fin spoke up quickly.

"Sweetie, maybe you'd better skip that one."

"No, Fin, it's okay," Bobby said softly. "Let her read it."

"Yeah," Alex said with a derisive snort. "Let's hear what drivel they've written about us this time."

Sophie hesitated, looked around at each of the three adults before nervously going on to read the article.

"_It is with great relief that this newspaper noted the impending recovery of Detective Robert Goren and Detective Alexandra Eames…_"

"They always use 'Alexandra'," Alex huffed in annoyance. "Every damn time…"

Sophie giggled at her exaggerated tone, and then read on.

"_Detectives Eames and Goren were both shot and critically wounded two weeks ago by a man they allegedly suspected of committing murder. The Times has been following their progress since the incident, and is happy to report that both of these courageous individuals will live._"

"Wow," Alex said dryly. "Someone actually managed to write that without suffering reflux?"

"Alex, be nice," Bobby chided her, but he couldn't hide the grin that filtered onto his face at her words. "Go on, Sophie."

Sophie read on, cheered by the adults' good humour.

"_We at The Times wish both detectives a full and speedy recovery, and we all hope they will be back where they belong very soon._"

Bobby's smile faded at the unwanted reminder that a full recovery for him was not going to happen, but he said nothing. When Alex squeezed his hand gently, though, he responded by returning the gesture. Next to him, Alex relaxed just a little. She hadn't expected the words from the article not to affect him at all, but it reassured her that he was at least responding to her.

"_On the other side of the coin_," Sophie read, "_this paper wonders just what was going through the minds of the authorities in sending the man who shot the detectives to the very same hospital where Detectives Eames and Goren are currently recovering…_"

Even at her young age, Sophie understood the implications of that last line, and she looked up at the adults in dismay, her eyes filling with tears.

"He's here? The man who hurt you is in this hospital? What if he tries to hurt you again?"

Neither Bobby nor Alex responded. They exchanged increasingly disturbed stares, their fear and worry reflected clearly in each other's eyes.

"Okay, Sophie," Fin murmured, feeling more than a little sick himself at the news. He gently took the newspaper from her, and lifted her off the bed. "I need you to do something important for me. Go find your dad, and ask him to get Dr Fielding. Go on, quickly."

Sophie ran from the room to do as he'd asked. Fin waited until she'd gone before turning back to his friends.

"Okay, guys, don't freak out on me now."

"Freak out?" Alex asked hoarsely, staring at Fin in growing anger as the shock began to wear off. "_Freak out?_ Dylan Black is here, in _this_ hospital, and you don't want us to freak out?"

"He'll be under police guard, Alex," Fin reminded her. "There's no way he'd get anywhere near either of you. You know that!"

"Unless he's granted bail on arraignment," Bobby said softly.

"On a charge of attempted murder of two cops?" Fin snorted. "I don't think so."

"It… It could depend on what IAB say about it," Bobby went on.

"But they seemed okay," Alex argued in confusion. Bobby, however, was undeterred, and his next words sent a chill down both Alex and Fin's spines.

"Black made a complaint about us. About our… our methods."

Silence met his words.

"He… complained… about _us_?" Alex choked out incredulously. "Over what?"

"The detectives from IAB wouldn't tell me the details," Bobby answered softly. "But… they told me we didn't have to worry."

"Detectives from IAB told you that?" Fin asked, more than a little disbelieving.

"Yeah, Fin, they told me that. They said that they couldn't say anything officially, but that they'd looked at the reports from CSU, and Black's statement wasn't supported at all by the forensic evidence." He looked to Alex. "They said my statement was."

"They'd better not be trying to sucker you," Fin growled, but Alex shook her head.

"I don't think they were, Fin. I talked to them, too. Let's just say they didn't come across as your standard IAB officers. They were…"

"Considerate," Bobby offered when Alex hesitated. She nodded her agreement.

"And kind. They were kind to us."

"They told me we don't have to worry," Bobby added. Fin snorted.

"Well, I hope that's true, but if you're right, it'd be a first."

The conversation was interrupted when the door opened, and Fielding strode in, worry etched on his face.

"I just got a very convoluted message from a frantic little girl that the bad man was after her uncle."

"Dylan Black," Alex said grimly. "We just found out that he's here in this hospital."

Understanding dawned on Fielding's face.

"Oh. I see… Well, it may not seem like much comfort at the moment, but I can assure you that he's well guarded and, unless I'm mistaken, your captain is trying to organise protection for the two of you, as well."

"Well, I'll be easy to protect," Bobby muttered dismally. Alex frowned at him, and he shrugged. "It isn't as though I'm going anywhere soon."

"Actually, Bobby," Fielding said as he walked over, "that might not be entirely accurate."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked, sounding confused. Fielding offered him a smile.

"What I mean is that I think we can look at trying to get you into a wheelchair some time in the coming week or two so that you can start adjusting to being in a chair, if you're agreeable with that."

Bobby fell silent, his tired mind suddenly swamped with fear and anxiety over the concept of adjusting to life in a wheelchair, and before he could stop it his eyes filled with fresh tears.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered, filled with a deep shame at his apparent inability to control his own emotions.

"Don't apologise, Bobby," Fielding told him gently. "I'd be concerned if you didn't shed a few tears over this. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it's why I raised it with you now. You're not quite ready to get out of bed yet, but hopefully by the time you are, you'll be ready for it mentally and emotionally as well as physically. Now, I have to go. I have another patients to see, but don't worry yourselves too much about Dylan Black. He's on the other side of the hospital, under strict guard, and I promise you won't be running into him at all."

"Don't worry," Alex echoed bitterly once Fielding had gone. "Easy for him to say."

"Look," Fin murmured, "how about I go talk to your captain? See what's happening?"

Alex hesitated, and then nodded in appreciation.

"Thanks, Fin. We'd appreciate that.

She waited until he'd gone, and then returned her attention to her partner, and taking in his deepening distress that was clearly reflection on his pale face. Alex felt her heart break all over again, and she reached for him, clasping his free hand in hers.

"I'm right here," she told him softly, fully anticipating him shutting down again. She was surprised and relieved when he didn't. Instead, he looked across at her through a blinding veil of tears that spilled from his eyes.

"Alex…" he whispered in distress, and she looked up at him in equal distress.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I don't want to be in a wheelchair," he choked out in a broken tone that threatened to tear her apart.

"I know," she said, stretching up a little further so that she could cup his stubbled cheek with her hand. The contact was nowhere near enough for either of them, and Alex tried unsuccessfully to hold back her own tears at the inadequacy of it. "I want to hug you so tight," she choked out, grasping his hand as tightly as she could.

"It's not fair!" Bobby cried, finally giving in to the misery that had been threatening to overtake him.

"No," Alex agreed, similarly in tears. "It isn't fair. You deserve better than this."

A bitter laugh escaped him, sounding slightly strangled.

"Mom is going to have a field day with me over this. If… If she even notices, that is. She probably won't even notice I haven't been… been calling her… or that I haven't been to see her… unless she wants to rip into me over it."

"Why would she do that, Bobby?" Alex asked, disturbed that he seemed to believe that would happen. "You're there for her all the time. You call her every day, and you go to see her every week. That's a hell of a lot more than Frank ever bothered to do."

"And yet it's always Frank that she asks for," Bobby said miserably. "It's only ever Frank that she wants to know about. I… I'm a failure in her eyes, because I didn't follow the same path as Frank."

"What, and become a vindictive, abusive alcoholic and gambling addict, with a fondness for drugs?" Alex retorted acidly. "Oh yeah, you're a _real_ failure. C'mon, Bobby, didn't you tell her what your wonderful brother did to you the last time you saw him?"

Bobby rubbed self-consciously at his eyes.

"I tried to tell her. She accused me of spreading lies, and started hitting me with whatever she could lay her hands on. I didn't try again. In… In her eyes, Frank can't do anything wrong, but me…"

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish that sentence, and instead he looked away as he struggled uselessly to contain his tears.

"Oh, Bobby," Alex whispered.

"It hurts," Bobby admitted in a small voice. "And… I try not to be, but I'm jealous of you."

"Me? Why?"

"B… Because you have parents who… who love you more than anything. My… my mom stopped being capable of loving me a long time ago… and my dad never loved me at all."

Alex shut her eyes for a moment in an effort to regain control of her emotions before looking back at her distraught partner.

"I know it doesn't make up for anything, but Mom and Dad took you into their hearts virtually right from the moment they met you. You're a real part of our family now, as far as they're concerned. They love you, Bobby. Don't every doubt that." She paused, and then added softly, "And so do I."

Bobby quietened just a little, his nervous gaze coming to rest on her. For several seconds they just stared at each other, and then Bobby spoke in a voice so soft that she had to strain to hear it.

"Thankyou. I… I love you, too, Alex."

She wondered with a sharp pain in her heart just how much of him being able to say that now was solely because he truly believed his career as a cop was finished. That was too painful a thought to consider, though, and she thrust it away. She squeezed his hand again, and was both grateful and relieved when he responded in kind.

"We're going to get through this, Bobby, _together_. Okay?"

He nodded, but she couldn't help but notice with a growing feeling of unease that he would no longer make eyes contact with her.

* * *

_That afternoon  
__Internal Affairs Bureau_

John Patrick and Aaron Jensen stood in their supervisor's office for what felt like an eternity, while he read through the report they'd compiled. Neither man had to be a genius to know that he wasn't happy, and both of them knew why. All they could do, though, was stand there, and wait for the inevitable explosion.

Finally, Brian Crockett set the pages of their report down, and regarded the men standing before him with an inscrutable stare.

"Well, this is a very comprehensive report, gentlemen. Not a bad effort for just a couple of days' work. I have to wonder whether perhaps you tweaked the facts a little. Did you?"

"No, sir," Patrick answered tonelessly. "And it's more than two days' work. Prior to conducting the interviews yesterday, we'll spent four solid days examining the forensic reports, statements, and everything else case-related. And then, after we conducted out interviews yesterday, we came back and spent half the night comparing our interviews to the interviews conducted by the detectives from the Two-Seven. We didn't take short-cuts, we didn't tweak the evidence and we didn't make anything up. That's our report, and we're standing by it."

Crockett, however, looked unimpressed by Patrick's resolve.

"This report completely exonerates Detective Goren, and places all responsibility on Dylan Black."

"Yes, sir," Patrick said firmly. "That's the conclusion we reached. Detective Goren and Detective Eames acted appropriately and with reasonable force. Dylan Black was not threatened, and he was shot once by both detectives who were acting in clear defence of each other. We concluded that they did nothing wrong."

Crockett sat back slowly.

"I thought I made it clear what conclusion you were to reach when I handed you this case to you."

Patrick flushed red with anger at that.

"So let me get this straight. If I'd _tweaked_ the evidence in favour of Goren and Eames, then that would be wrong. But it's okay to do that if it gets a result in favour of the man who tried to murder them?"

Crockett stiffened, his features darkening at Patrick's words.

"Watch yourself, Patrick. You're out of line, there…"

"No, sir, you're the one who's out of line. Don't ever ask us to manipulate evidence, especially when the only reason is because you happen to have a grudge against the detective who's been complained about."

"Patrick…"

"No, sir. We will not twist evidence to get a particular result, not now and not ever And especially not to bring down two good cops who have done nothing wrong!"

Crockett looked sharply to Jensen, who stood tall under the sudden scrutiny.

"What about you, Jensen? Do you agree with Patrick? I promise you won't suffer any retribution for saying no…"

Jensen raised an eyebrow at his boss.

"But I will if I say yes? Is that what you're saying, sir?"

Again, Crockett glowered.

"Damn it…"

"Yes, sir, I do agree with him," Jensen said quickly. "One hundred percent. Goren and Eames didn't do anything that Dylan Black says they did. They didn't threaten him, and they acted well within the boundaries of proper police protocol. They did nothing wrong."

"Fine," Crockett said tonelessly, deciding abruptly to take a different tact. "I'll consider the report, but be aware that I'll probably have Somers and Aldridge review it before I formally respond."

Patrick barely withheld a smirk. Somers and Aldridge were notorious for their ruthlessness in pursuing investigations against good cops, no matter how flimsy the evidence. He'd seen it coming a mile off that Crocket would employ those two with the intention of tampering with the report, and he was well prepared for it.

"I thought you might be inclined to do that," he said calmly. Crockett was all but sneering at him.

"Did you just?"

"Yes, sir. And that's why I've already forwarded copies of my report to Lieutenant Van Buren at the Two-Seven, the Chief of Detectives, the Commissioner, Captain Deakins at Major Case, the DA's office, the Association reps assigned to Goren and Eames, _and_ several media outlets."

Crocket froze, his chubby face going red with fury as Patrick's words gradually sank in.

"You… You… Patrick, you son of a bitch!"

Patrick took an incongruous step towards the door, and Jensen followed suit.

"Just hedging my bets, sir," Patrick said in an almost cheerful tone. "You're welcome to have anyone you like review our report, but if anyone tried to change it behind our backs, all hell will break loose."

"Get the hell out of my office!" Crockett bellowed. "Both of you, out!"

They went, not even attempting to hide their grins.

* * *

"So, what now?" Jensen wondered. "Because you know that Crocket is going to try and undermine our report somehow, to make Goren and Eames seem like the bad guys."

"I know," Patrick agreed. "And we're not going to let him. Get on the phone and contact the Police Association. Have them send a rep to the hospital."

"Now?"

"Yes, _now_. I'm going to call Captain Deakins, the Two-Seven and the Chief of D's. We're going to go and talk to them again, and make sure the people who matter know what really happened in that warehouse, before Crocket tries to trash their careers."

* * *

When Patrick and Jensen arrived at the hospital, they were not at all surprised to discover all those whom they had contacted were already there, including the Chief of Detectives.

"Patrick," Chief Bradshaw said quietly in greeting. "Jensen. You've got us all here. Care to explain what this is all about?"

"First of all," Patrick said, "did you all receive the report that we sent?"

There was a collective nod in answer to that, and the relief on Patrick and Jensen's faces was visible for all to see.

"Good," Patrick said. "The reason we're here now is because we want to take you up to hear Detective Goren and Detective Eames' accounts first hand."

"Why?" Van Buren demanded to know. "We have their statements recorded, and so do you. Why do they need to be put through giving them a third time?"

"Because we believe that Captain Crockett intends to have our final report altered in order to implicate Goren and Eames, so that he can label them as being culpable in the shooting," Patrick said flatly. "We want to get in before that happens."

Stunned silence met Patrick's words, and the first one to break it was Chief Bradshaw.

"Detective Patrick, you are aware that you're accusing your captain of interfering with due process? That is a very serious allegation."

Patrick nodded.

"I'm aware of that, sir, but we can prove it. Jensen…?"

His colleague produced a mini tape recorder from his coat pocket, and hit play. A moment later, they all heard Crockett's voice telling the detectives he thought he had 'made it clear what conclusion they were to reach', followed by Patrick's angry response.

"That son of a bitch," Van Buren hissed, while Deakins stood beside her in stony silence. Bradshaw was equally angry.

"We trusted him to deal with all of these matters fairly! How dare he think he can act as judge and jury!"

"How long has this been going on for?" the Police Rep asked coolly, and they could already see him calculating in his mind just how many officers might have suffered unjust results in their cases as a result.

"Over twelve months," Jensen answered. "Unfortunately, we weren't able to provide proof of it before now. This was the first time we actually caught Crockett out on tape."

"All right," Bradshaw said soberly. "I don't think we need to put Goren and Eames through the trauma of having to tell their side of the story again. Not in light of that tape. Patrick, I want you to make copies of it. I want one, and I want to give one to the Commissioner."

"We're way ahead of you, sir," Jensen said, and produced two tapes, which he handed to Bradshaw. He then handed a copy to Deakins, one to Van Buren and one to the Police Rep.

"Hedging your bets well and truly, aren't you?" Bradshaw asked wryly. Patrick smiled, unapologetic.

"Maybe, but we're fed up with it. There's been a mindset in IAB for far too long that our fellow cops are the bad guys, and anyone who makes a complaint must be on the level. Yes, we know there are dirty cops out there who need to be stopped, but there is a equal number of good, honest cops who've had their reputations and their careers ruined because IAB refused to look beyond the complaint… or the politics… and thoroughly examine the evidence. We weren't going to let that happen this time."

"Thankyou," Deakins said softly, speaking for the first time. Bradshaw nodded his agreement.

"Yes, thankyou, for both your honest and your integrity. I promise you, this will be dealt with swiftly. As I said, though, I don't think there's any need to bother Goren or Eames for another rendition of their experience."

On that note, the group slowly dispersed, until only Chief Bradshaw and Captain Deakins were left.

"Jim?" Bradshaw inquired. "Are you coming?"

"Actually," Deakins murmured, "I was planning on going up to see Bobby. I had a call from his doctor earlier this afternoon. He's struggling, mentally and emotionally, and it's not helping him at all that he's still in ICU, and visiting hours are limited."

He began walking towards the elevators, and Bradshaw fell in step beside him.

"Mind if I join you, then? I'm afraid I've been very remiss in not coming to see either of them, and it's high time I did, and let them know they have my full support."

Deakins nodded his gratitude.

"Thankyou. I appreciate it, and I know they will, too."

* * *

They arrived in ICU only to be confronted by the same nurse who Fin had less than affectionately compared to Attila the Hun, and she had no hesitation in blocking their access to the rooms beyond the nurses' station.

"It is well after visiting hours," she snapped, glaring at them both with a ferocity that would have turned lesser men to jelly. "You cannot come in!"

Before Deakins had a chance to get a word out, Bradshaw spoke up for the both of them in a tone that had a rarely-used authority.

"Nurse… Murphy, is it? I am Chief of Detectives Bradshaw, and one of my detectives is currently in the ICU after being critically wounded. Now, we _are_ going in to see him, and we are _not_ waiting until tomorrow morning to do so. If you have an issue with that, then I suggest you speak to your superior, because she is the one who assured me that Captain Deakins and I could come in to see Detective Goren at any time, day or night. Now, step aside!"

Still huffing like a dragon that had just had its fire doused, the nurse stepped aside and let them through.

"That was impressive," Deakins remarked amusedly. "She has a reputation for intimidating pretty much everyone."

Bradshaw grinned at him.

"Not really. Truth is, the head of the nursing staff here is my sister in-law. As long as I don't flaunt it, I can pretty much get away with anything I like."

Deakins laughed, quietly grateful for the moment of levity, although recent revelations quickly dimmed his good humour.

"I just can't believe Toby Crockett would do that. And to Goren and Eames…? I know Goren isn't the most popular detective in the NYPD, but for God's sake, everyone knows he's honest!"

"We'll get to the bottom of it, Jim," Bradshaw promised. "Not only for Goren and Eames' sakes, but for the sake of any other cops out there who might have caught the wrong end of the stick thanks to Crockett. Now, which room is he in?"

"Next one on the right."

Bradshaw nodded and started to turn into that doorway, only to freeze.

"What is it?" Deakins asked tensely, his hackles going up at the way that Bradshaw suddenly blocked him from so much as seeing inside.

"Jim," Bradshaw said in a preternaturally calm voice, "go and get help. Now."

Deakins couldn't possibly miss the underlying tension and fear in Bradshaw's voice, and he obeyed instinctively, turning and running back down the long corridor to get help. Bradshaw waited for just a moment before striding in and over to the bed.

To say that Bobby was in a bad way would have been a gross understatement. He lay in the bed, by all appearances unconscious, and the sheets that covered him were saturated with his own blood. Fearing the worst, Bradshaw felt for a pulse, and was relieved almost to the point of tears when he found it. It was frighteningly weak, but it was there.

Peeling the sheets back, he quickly discovered the apparent source of the blood. One of Bobby's gunshot wounds had reopened, and was bleeding profusely. The Chief had no way of knowing how long Bobby had been left alone in this state for, and he could barely suppress a surge of rage at the thought that it had been long enough for him to virtually be at the point of death.

"What on earth is going on here?" Attila thundered as she rounded the corner into Bobby's room. She was brought up short, however, by the sight of Bobby.

"Oh, dear God…"

Deakins followed her in, and froze, his face going a deathly white as he took in the terrifying sight before them.

"Out," the nurse demanded suddenly, even as she rushed over and hit the alarm that would summon help. "Both of you, out!"

They went, with the terrible sight burned into their minds, and the piercing wail of the alarm ringing in their ears.

* * *

Over an hour later, Dr Fielding found them both in the waiting lounge within the ICU, both very pale and cloaked in heavy silence.

"Gentlemen?" Fielding asked quietly, and had to take a step back when Deakins virtually leapt to his feet.

"Is he…?"

"He'll be fine," Fielding answered quickly. "It will take a while to replace the volume of blood that he lost, but he will be all right."

"How the hell did it happen?" Bradshaw asked in concern. Fielding hesitated, and then motioned to the chairs.

"Perhaps we should all sit down."

Deakins sat with a thud, and Fielding followed suit.

"All right," he said quietly. "Now, the cause was fairly straight forward. One of Bobby's wounds reopened, and bled badly. We scanned his abdomen, and there was no internal bleeding, so we didn't need to take him back into surgery."

"How did it reopen?" Deakins asked hoarsely, dreading the answer, but needing to know all the same. "Did he… do it himself?"

Fielding regarded Deakins sombrely.

"You believe this may have been a suicide attempt?"

Aware that Bradshaw's eyes were on him, Deakins forced himself to nod.

"I have to think it's a possibility, yes."

Fielding sighed, and rubbed at his temples.

"Well, you're both right and wrong about that. We were able to wake Bobby up, and though he wasn't exactly talkative about what happened, I was able to determine that the wound opening up was an accident. He apparently was trying to sit up to reach for a magazine, and the sutures broke. And trust me, I'll be looking thoroughly into how _that_ happened. I tied those sutures myself. They should never have broken like that."

"So, if it wasn't anything deliberate on his part…" Bradshaw started to say, but Fielding cut him off.

"Let me finish, Chief Bradshaw, please. No, that part was not Bobby's doing. However, he was awake and alert when it happened, and he could easily have summoned help immediately… but he didn't. He chose instead to just lie there and bleed, until he _did_ lose consciousness."

"Suicide by apathy," Deakins said, feeling sick to his stomach, and Fielding confirmed his diagnosis with a nod.

"I'm afraid so."

"Why?" Bradshaw wondered, baffled. "Both he and Eames will be all right. No one's blaming him for what happened, except that idiot Crockett, and that won't be an issue for much longer. Why would he be so willing to let him die?"

Fielding raised an eyebrow at Deakins, who groaned softly into his hands.

"He doesn't know," Deakins told the doctor. "Not many people outside those who have been visiting Bobby over the last couple of days _do_ know."

"Know what…?" Bradshaw asked, frowning. Fielding answered.

"One of the bullets damaged Bobby's spine. He's not going to walk again, Chief Bradshaw."

"Hell… Jim, why didn't you tell me?"

Deakins' gaze was fixed on the floor.

"I was in denial about it," he said simply. "I didn't want to accept it."

"If the people around him can't accept it," Fielding pointed out, "then it's going to be damned hard for Bobby to come to terms with it. We need to be working to secure a future for him, and if we can't figure out what that might be soon, then I'm afraid there will be a next time, and that next time won't be an accident."

"We'll work on figuring that out together," Bradshaw promised. "Doctor, can we see him now?"

"You can go in to see him, of course, but I put him back under sedation, at least for the next twenty-four hours. His body needs time to recover from the shock of what just happened."

Bradshaw stood up, and Deakins followed his lead.

"Thankyou."

* * *

"Paraplegic," Bradshaw muttered as they stood by Bobby's bedside a couple of minutes later, and sounding as though the word itself had a bad taste attached to it. "That's a hell of a blow."

"His entire world has been turned on its head," Deakins said sadly.

"He probably can't see past the fact that he career as a cop is finished. Can't say I blame him for reacting like this. I probably would too, in the same situation."

Deakins hesitated, and then spoke tentatively.

"Matt, I wanted to raise an idea with you… about Bobby. There might be a way to keep him on the Force, if you and the Commissioner are open to it."

Bradshaw looked up quizzically at Deakins.

"What is it, Jim? What are you thinking?"

"A consultant position," Deakins told him. "A profiling consultant, to be exact. He could stay on with Major Case, and act as a general profiler. Active duty would be out of the question, of course, but he could assist all the detectives there with profiling suspects, as well as assist in interrogations."

The thoughtful look on Bradshaw's face gave Deakins a feeling of hope that the suggestion would at least be considered.

"I'll look into that possibility," he confirmed. "God knows it'd be a waste to lose a mind like Goren's from the NYPD… and I suspect that if we don't find a place for him, then some other department will gladly snap him up. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he starts getting job offers from the FBI… or even the DA's office. I'm meeting with the Commissioner at the end of the week, Jim, and I'll raise it with him then. Hopefully we'll be able to come to a compromise that will be satisfactory for all of us, and especially for Goren."

Deakins nodded, his gaze falling on Bobby's pale features as he lay there under heavy sedation.

_Yes_, he thought dismally, _I hope so, too. For Bobby's sake, I really do hope so._

_

* * *

_

tbc...


	9. The Dark Before The Dawn

A/N: _I am an idiot. Only just realised, I left off an entire segment at the beginning of this chapter, so rather than just replace the content, I'm deleting the chapter, and resubmitting it entirely so that everyone has a chance to read what I missed out including the first time around. My apologies, people. _

* * *

Not for the first time, and he doubted for the last, Deakins approached Alex's room to the sound of her voice raised in anger.

"I don't give a damn what the doctor says! I need to be with Bobby. He needs me!"

"We agree with that, hon." That was John Eames, Deakins thought, not envying that he was very obviously in the line of fire. "But he's still in ICU, and you know the rules about visiting hours up there."

"Well, it's wrong," Alex said bitterly. "I want him down here... with me..."

Fighting a sudden bout of nausea, Deakins rounded the corner and walked into the room.

"Jimmy," John said in quiet greeting. Deakins nodded in return, and then his gaze went to Alex's tear-streaked face. He knew he had to tell her what had happened, but how...? It would devastate her to know that, while Bobby hadn't actually attempted suicide per se, he had still lain there and let himself almost bleed to death.

Finally, he settled on some more positive news to start with.

"I talked to Chief Bradshaw about yours and Marty's idea, John."

"Which idea is that?" John asked, sounding slightly puzzled.

"The consultancy one."

Realisation dawned on John's face.

"Oh, right. What did he say?"

"He said he'll raise it with the Commissioner when they meet at the end of the week."

John nodded approvingly.

"Well, that's a start, at least."

"What are you both talking about?" Alex demanded, fed up with being out of the loop. Deakins explained to her after receiving a nod from John.

"Your father and your Uncle Marty suggested that I look at ways of keeping Bobby with Major Case by way of employing him as a consultant... like a resident profiler. I told Chief Bradshaw, and he thinks the idea has merit."

Alex fell silent, chewing the idea over in her mind. In her heart, she knew that Bobby would not be returning to active duty with her, though her head was still baulking at that truth. She didn't want to accept it, because the idea that she and Bobby would no longer be partners was like a real physical pain to her.

However, knowing that Bobby would be there, every day... In all honesty, she wasn't sure if it would work out to be a good thing or a bad thing.

Certainly, it would be good as far as having him there, still as part of the squad. On the other hand, though, she knew she would eventually return to active duty. She couldn't help but wonder whether Bobby might eventually come to resent that she was able to get out there on the streets... attend crime scenes, chase up leads, track down witnesses and suspects... while he could not.

"Have you told Bobby about it yet?" she asked.

"No," Deakins admitted uncomfortably. "Not as yet…"

"Jim, is something wrong?" John wondered. "You're jumpy as hell all of a sudden."

Deakins suddenly wished fervently that he hadn't gone to see Alex straight away. It was too late now, though. He had no choice but to tell them.

"I went up to ICU with Chief Bradshaw to see Bobby…"

"The Chief of D's was here?" Alex asked sceptically. "And he actually bothered to look in on Bobby? Wow…"

"Don't, Alex," Deakins warned her quietly. "Don't take that attitude. Bradshaw is going to bat for both you and Bobby over the complaints that Dylan Black has made against you, so don't mock him."

Alex looked visibly chastened.

"Sorry," she muttered. Deakins nodded passively.

"Okay. And, for the record, Bradshaw is still here. He stayed up in ICU with Bobby when I left to come down here. The thing is… When we got up there… Look, you need to understand, it wasn't an actual suicide attempt…"

As soon as the word 'suicide' left his lips, Alex's already pale face turned a frightening shade of ashen, and she stared up at Deakins in numb shock.

"Bobby tried to kill himself?" John asked in horror.

"Not exactly," Deakins answered, quietly cursing how pathetic his words sounded. "It was actually an accident. Some of his sutures broke, and he was bleeding heavily… but he didn't try to call for help. He just lay there, letting himself bleed out."

"I don't believe it," Alex whispered hoarsely. "I can't believe that. Bobby wouldn't do that. It goes against everything he believes in. He… He just wouldn't."

"Alex, he's hurting," John told her softly. "His life is never going to be the same. It's not beyond the realms of possibility…"

"No!" she burst out in growing distress. "He wouldn't hurt himself! What about Dylan Black? Has anyone checked on Black? Maybe… Maybe he got to Bobby…"

"Alex, stop it," Deakins told her, giving his voice that extra bit of authority. "Now listen to me. No, Bobby did not deliberately break his own sutures, or anything as dramatic as that. They broke by accident. Dr Fielding admitted that. What Bobby _did_ do… or rather, didn't do… was make any effort to get help. He just let himself bleed until he passed out, and if Chief Bradshaw and I hadn't walked in when we did…"

He left the rest unsaid, and Alex looked away from him, distraught.

"The reality must finally be sinking in," John said softly. "Jim, did his doctor give any indication of when he might come out of ICU?"

Deakins sighed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"It would have possibly happened by the end of this week. But with the amount of blood he's lost, a move out of ICU might not happen now until the end of next week, at the earliest. Why?"

"Because he's going to have to be placed on suicide watch," John said grimly.

Deakins nodded in understanding and reluctant agreement.

"It's already happened," he confirmed. "There's to be someone in the room with him around the clock. They'll relax the watch again only when a psychiatrist has fully assessed him, and determined that he's no longer a danger to himself."

Silence met his words, and Deakins felt sick to his stomach for having to bring such bleak tidings, but they needed to know, and he felt it was important that Alex, in particular, hear the news from him. What was most important now, was to ensure that Bobby stayed alive, and did not give up.

"I want to be up there with him," Alex suddenly said, and it was with some effort that Deakins didn't roll his eyes.

"I know, Alex. First thing tomorrow…"

"No," she cut him off fiercely. "_Now_."

Deakins bit back a sigh.

"You know that's not possible, Alex. Besides, he wouldn't even know you were there. Dr Fielding sedated him, and he most likely won't wake up for another twenty-four hours."

"I don't care," Alex insisted. "He needs me, Captain. Please, talk to the doctors? You _know_ he'd be doing better if I was with him. You _know_ that."

He did. He knew, without a doubt, that Alex's presence would go a long way to keeping Bobby grounded, and keeping his heart and mind safe from dangerous ideas, but he honestly couldn't see a way around her doctor's demands that she stay in bed, and recuperate properly.

"What if we make a compromise?" John asked suddenly, drawing both Deakins' attention as well as his daughter's.

"What compromise?" Alex asked, sounding intensely suspicious.

"Well, what if one of the family stays in ICU with Bobby during the time that you can't? I'm sure your mother and your uncles would be more than happy to take a turn to sit with him. That way, we can maintain a suicide watch, and keep him company at the same time. It'll also take pressure off the hospital staff as far as providing someone to keep an eye on him."

Deakins nodded his approval.

"I think that would be great. Thankyou, John."

"Well, Lexie?" John asked quietly, looking to his daughter. "What do you think?"

As much as she wanted to argue, Alex held her tongue and nodded meekly. She knew that what her father had just suggested was the best option, for there was no way her doctor was going to agree to allow her to spend all day and all night at Bobby's side. She knew she'd been damned lucky getting him to agree to two hours in the morning, and two hours in the afternoon. It wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing, and the thought that members of her family would be at Bobby's side placated her somewhat.

"I'll talk to Dr Fielding," Deakins told them. "I think he'll agree to it. It would be more beneficial to Bobby having people sit with him that he knows do actually care, rather than a roster of staff members that he knows are only there because they're being paid, and it's what they were told to do."

"I'll call Marty and Frank first thing in the morning. Alison and Jaime, too, I think. They'd be more than happy to take a turn sitting with Bobby."

"Thankyou," Deakins murmured again, sincerely grateful.

* * *

_24 hours later_

Bobby awoke slowly, to a dull, burning pain in his abdomen and the fuzzy-headed sensation left by heavy sedation. He lay still for a while, eyes closed, while he tried to gather his senses. He didn't know what had happened that he'd needed to be sedated; his memories were sketchy at best.

"Bobby? Are you awake?"

Confusion descended on Bobby's exhausted mind. If he wasn't mistaken, that voice belonged to Alex's sister in-law, Jaime. His curiosity piqued, Bobby forced his eyes open, to find a welcome, friendly face smiling warmly at him.

"Hey there," Jaime murmured, grasping his right hand and gently squeezing it. "Welcome back."

_From where…?_ he wondered dimly, but had no energy to voice his question.

"Here…"

He felt a straw touch his lips, and was able to draw a few sips of water before a coughing fit took over.

"Easy," Jaime murmured. She slipped a hand easily between the mattress and his body, and gently rubbed his back.

"Wh… What happened?" he finally managed to ask once the coughing subsided. Jaime paused in her ministrations, wondering whether he really didn't recall, or if he was just trying to feel out the general mood. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and spoke gently.

"Bobby, you had an accident."

Well, she thought ruefully, technically it was true.

"What… accident?" he asked hoarsely, and Jaime had to bite back a sigh.

"Your sutures broke, Bobby and you lost a lot of blood. Dr Fielding sedated you for twenty-four hours so your body could recover from the shock."

Bobby went suddenly quiet as the memories came back to him with force. Memories of the sharp pain of his sutures breaking open as he tried to sit up… memories of watching the blood seeping out, and staining the crisp white hospital sheets… and finally, memories of his world fading to a black nothingness as he finally gave in and lost consciousness.

And, as the memories came back, nausea filled him as he realised what he'd nearly done.

Jaime seemed to anticipate his reaction. She had a container at the ready as he began to throw up. It turned out to only be dry retching, though. There was nothing in his stomach for him to throw up, Jaime realised sadly.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered once the compulsive retching eventually eased off. "I'm sorry…"

She regarded him curiously as she gently guided him back down onto the soft pillow. She wondered what, exactly, he was apologising for – the messed up suicide effort, or that he was still alive. She hoped to God it wasn't the latter, but with the state of mind that he was clearly in, anything was possible.

"What are you sorry for, Bobby?" she asked as she gently drew the blankets up to cover him more fully when he shivered.

"The sutures," he mumbled, unable to maintain eye contact with her. "I didn't mean to… to break them."

"We know," Jaime reassured him. "We know that was an accident. But Bobby… Why didn't you call for help? You could have died!"

Tears welled in his eyes and overflowed.

"I was going to… call for help, I mean… but then everything hit. I… I'm going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I couldn't stop thinking that m… maybe it'd be better off for everyone if I was…"

"If you were dead?" she prompted him softly. Though he didn't answer, the look on his pale face confirmed her guess. He dissolved completely into tears, and tried unsuccessfully to turn away from her. Jaime sighed, then, and leaned down to kiss him gently on the forehead.

"Bobby, you need to believe me when I say that it wouldn't be better for anyone if you died."

"But… I'll need so much help," he stammered. "And… I don't have anyone…"

"That's not true!" Jaime insisted. "We'll all be here to help you. Our whole family is all geared up to help you however we can, Bobby. Please let us help you."

"You don't have to feel obligated," he said in a soft, bitter voice. "I… I'm not Alex's partner anymore. None of you have to bother with me now. You're all off the hook."

Jaime frowned.

"Bobby Goren, I could hit you for that! Do you really believe that that's what we're all thinking? Because it's not!"

"You don't have to pretend," Bobby whispered, and beyond the careless words, Jaime heard a far deeper pain, and she realised abruptly what he was doing. She was no psychiatrist, but she could see what he was trying to do as clear as glass.

He fully anticipated everyone just giving up on him sooner or later and his state of mind was such that he was trying to push everyone away before that happened. And yet, the irony was that in trying to avoid being hurt, he was only making it worse on himself.

"What can I say to make you understand that we really do care about you?" she asked softly. His eyes flickered towards her briefly, and then away again. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a guttural, grief-riddled tone.

"Are you here because Alex asked you? Because she… she doesn't want to waste her time sitting with her poor, crippled partner? Are you here because I can't be left alone? In case I try to hurt myself again?"

Jaime swallowed a desire to bite back in reaction to the hurtful words. Instead, she saw a chance to try and reach him through the truth, and she grabbed at it.

"You are on suicide watch," she confirmed quietly. "The doctor was going to organise a roster or nurses to sit in here with you, but we asked him to let us stay with you instead. And we aren't doing it because Alex asked us, or because we feel obligated to you. We're doing this because we care about you, and none of us want you to have to wake up to the face of someone who's only in here because they're being paid for it. Don't you understand, Bobby? We love you. You're a part of our family, and we don't abandon our own. Not for any reason."

She didn't know whether her words had gotten through to him or not. He didn't react, and didn't even look at her. Finally, Jaime sighed.

"Push as hard as you like, Bobby. I'm not leaving, and that has nothing to do with the watch on you, because it'd be just as easy for me to walk out and ask them to send a nurse in." She paused, but still there was no response. "Is that what you want?" she asked tonelessly. "For me to leave?"

And then she saw it; a single tear rolling down the side of his face. She saw, and silently thanked God that she seemed to have gotten through to him without too much of a fight. But then, as her uncle had said, Bobby was hurting, but he was not suicidal. At least, not in the true sense. He had every good reason to be depressed, too, she thought.

"Do you really want me to leave?" she asked again in a softer tone.

Another tear appeared, and then another… and another…

"No," he whispered finally in a trembling voice. Jaime smiled, then.

"Well, good, because I'm not going anywhere. I just wanted to hear it from you that you didn't want me to leave."

Bobby finally looked up at her, through tear-blurred eyes.

"Does she know? Does A… Alex know what h… happened? What I did?"

"She knows," Jaime confirmed, and felt her heart twist painfully at the anguish in his face at the admission. "She didn't want to believe it at first… but she's not angry at you, Bobby. No one is. We understand… We understand how much you must be hurting right now. But it will eventually get better. You just have to believe it. It will be all right again."

He looked away again, this time blinded by his tears.

"Nothing's ever going to all right," he whispered. "Never."

* * *

"He's so depressed," Jaime said softly as she sat with Alex through breakfast the next morning. "I didn't really know what to say to him in the end. I thought I'd be able to get through to him, but it was like everything I was saying was just bouncing off him. It was heart-breaking.

"We can hardly expect anything else," Helen pointed out. "He's hurting, Jaime. We can't expect him to just snap out of it. It doesn't work like that, and you know it!"

"I know," Jaime sighed. "I just really thought I could get through to him."

Alex stirred the lukewarm coffee in front of her with precious little sign of life.

"Who's with him now?" she asked, regarding her sister in-law with dark eyes.

"His brother, Frank," she answered. "I was going to wait until someone else arrived, but he said that he wanted to spend more time with Bobby. Why? Is something wrong?"

For a split second, Alex nearly said yes, only to stop herself.

"No," she said finally, with some reluctance. "I suppose not."

"You really don't trust him, do you?" Jaime asked, and Alex forced herself to answer honestly.

"No," she admitted. "I don't trust him. He's never given Bobby anything except grief, and I just don't believe that he's here this time just because he wanted to catch up with Bobby. I don't trust him, not one bit."

Helen grasped her daughter's hand firmly.

"I hope you're wrong about him, sweetheart."

Alex returned her mother's gaze with one that was fraught with worry.

"So do I, Mom. Because the last thing that Bobby needs is for his brother… or anyone else, for that matter, to turn on him."

"I'll tell you something," Jaime murmured. "I would hate to be in Frank's shoes if he does turn out to be a louse. Because if he does, and he hurts Bobby at all, Dad will probably kill him with his own hands."

"He'll have to get in line," Alex said harshly. "Because if he hurts Bobby in any way, then _I'll_ kill him."

* * *

When Bobby awoke to find not Jaime, but Frank sitting beside him, his first thought was to pretend he was still asleep. Before he could do that, though, Frank noticed he was awake, and spoke.

"Hey, Bobby. How're you feeling?"

It was the one question that Bobby honestly couldn't understand why people insisted on asking him. In his mind, it should have been obvious how he was feeling, and people generally didn't want an honest answer anyway. Right then, he didn't particularly feel like pretending for anyone, let alone his brother.

"Like crap," he answered dully. Frank shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, I guess you would. Sorry, kiddo. Dumb thing to ask. I promise I won't ask that again."

_Sure_, Bobby thought sceptically. _You and Dr Fielding both_…

"Your doctor," Frank went on tentatively. "He, um… He told me about what happened. You know…"

"When I tried to kill myself?" Bobby interrupted softly when Frank fumbled helplessly over the words. The confusion on Frank's face at that moment would have been funny, had the subject of their conversation not been so grim.

"But… the doc said it was just an accident," Frank said with a frown. "Wasn't it…?"

"I guess so," Bobby mumbled. "At least, I didn't intend to break the sutures."

Frank went abruptly quiet as the deeper meaning in Bobby's words got through to him.

"So… You're saying that you deliberately didn't call for help? Ah, damn it, Bobby…"

"Are you going to give me the whole 'you can still be a valuable member of society' line?" Bobby asked bitterly. "Because I've already heard it at least twice now. Could probably recite part of it from memory."

Frank frowned darkly at him.

"As a matter of fact, I wasn't going to say that at all. Why don't you try this for a change? You stupid, selfish son of a bitch!"

For a moment, brief though it was, Bobby gaped at Frank with his mouth wide open. Then, the shock was gone, to be replaced with anger and hurt.

"You're calling me selfish?"

"Damn straight," Frank snapped.

"You asshole," Bobby said in a soft, but heated tone. "I'm not the one who only makes contact whenever the debt collectors are biting."

"At least I've tried making contact!" Frank argued. "If I left the ball in your court, we'd never see each other!"

Bobby's expression had turned dangerous by then.

"How much?" he asked coolly, and Frank faltered.

"Wh… What?"

"How much money do you owe this time?"

Anger and indignation flashed across Frank's face, mixed with what Bobby was sure was a tinge of guilt.

"Is that really why you think I'm here? Because I need money? Jesus, Bobby…"

"Don't you?" Bobby pressed. "Because it'd be a first if you didn't."

"Well…"

"So I take it that's a yes," Bobby cut him off roughly. Frank stepped away from the bedside, and began to pace in open agitation.

"Okay, so maybe I do owe some guys. It… It's not a huge thing…"

Bobby groaned softly, feeling his stomach churn.

"I knew it… Goddamn you, Frank."

Frank rounded on his brother, then, snarling in anger.

"You self-righteous bastard, like you never made a mistake."

"I'm not saying that," Bobby answered tiredly. "But every time you've come to see me in the last fifteen or twenty years, it's been because of money."

"What, so it's a crime to ask your little brother for a loan, now?"

Bobby looked up at him, feeling tired and sick.

"Frank, the last time I saw you, you beat the hell out of me because I wouldn't give you any money. So you look me in the eye now, and tell me that I'm wrong."

Frank held Bobby's piercing stare for all of approximately three seconds before he had to look away. Bobby felt a sense of triumph that was anything but satisfying.

"I knew it," he whispered again, and it was all Frank could do not to cringe at the acute mixture of disappointment and weary resignation in Bobby's voice. "How much?"

"Twenty-eight thousand," Frank admitted finally in a barely audible whisper. Bobby groaned aloud.

"Goddamn it, Frank…"

"It really isn't as bad as it sounds," Frank said weakly. "All I need is a short term loan to cover it."

"And you thought you could get it from me?" Bobby asked incredulously. "What planet are you living on?"

"Well, I figured if you couldn't, then… maybe…"

Bobby stared up at him with burgeoning suspicions.

"You thought what?"

"Well… Mom…"

Bobby's stomach dropped unpleasantly as the pieces finally dropped into place.

"You thought that Mom has the money. You were going to ask her for it. Frank…"

"Just a loan, Bobby!" Frank protested quickly. "That's all it is! I just need a quick loan. I'll pay it back as soon as I can, I swear it."

"Forget it, Frank," Bobby said softly. "She has no savings. She doesn't have anything like what you need."

Frank was silent for several long seconds, seemingly trying to digest that information. When he did finally respond, Bobby could hear the growing desperation in his voice.

"But… She's living at that fancy psyche hospital…"

"Carmel Ridge? Yeah, she is, but not as a private patient. She's on Medicaid, Frank. She has no money."

Frank began pacing again as he agitation began to increase once more.

"No. That can't be. She must have something. She's got to…" He turned abruptly, and Bobby found himself face to face with a disturbingly familiar look of desperation and panic. "You. You must have savings. Your… Your Army pension…"

"I don't have an Army pension," Bobby answered wearily. "I wasn't in the Army long enough to qualify. I cut loose from there early, so that I could get in at the Police Academy before I was too old. All I have is my cop's salary."

"You mean you don't have anything at all saved up?"

Bobby sucked in a long breath. He fervently wished that someone else would walk in and interrupt this conversation from hell, but he knew the odds of that happening were slim. If what Jaime had said was true, then he was on a suicide watch, and it was unlikely that someone else would walk in before his brother was due to be relieved of the task of sitting with him.

"I have my own personal savings," he admitted with some reluctance, "but…"

"Great," Frank enthused, not giving Bobby the chance to finish what he was saying. "Look, all you need to do is give me your account details. I can take care of the rest."

"No."

Frank froze in mid-stride, staring at his brother in obvious confusion.

"What?"

"I said no."

Silence reigned for nearly a minute before Frank slowly returned to the bedside.

"I told you, Bobby, I just need a loan. That's all…"

Bobby shut his eyes miserably, wishing that Frank would just vanish. He was feeling sick, exhausted and in increasingly more pain, and the last thing he needed was to be fighting with his brother over money.

"Frank… Look at me."

"Bobby…"

"_Look at me!_" Bobby burst out, his voice cracking as he struggled to put some degree of force behind his words. It worked. Frank's eyes swept nervously up and down Bobby's body. Bobby went on shakily. "I… I'm a cripple, Frank. Whatever money I have saved, I'm going to need it for myself. I… I'll have to renovate my apartment… or maybe even look at buying somewhere new altogether. There'll be physio… Rehab… And I'll have to buy a wh… a wheelchair."

He very nearly choked on the last word, and couldn't keep his eyes from filling with fresh tears as it was. Frank was looking more than a little embarrassed by then, but it didn't appear to have been enough to turn him from his purpose.

"I know this is a bad time, pal, and I really am sorry. But I really do need your help. You won't be out of pocket, Bobby, I swear it. You'll get it all back, and more!"

"Get out," Bobby whispered. Frank frowned, not quite catching what he'd said.

"What was that?"

"Get out!" Bobby choked out. "Go! Get the fuck away from me!"

"Bobby…"

"Just go," Bobby sobbed, overcome with grief and anguish. "You're only here for one thing, and I c… can't help you. Just go."

Frank stood stiffly, his jaw locked with what could have been either resignation or anger.

"I just needed your help this one," he said finally, softly. "Just this once, so I would have to bring my wife into it. You've really let me down, Bobby."

Bobby could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

"I… I let you down?"

"That's right," Frank confirmed. "I expected more from you… but I guess I should've known better, shouldn't I?" He turned towards the door. "I'm going now. You won't see me again. I won't blight you with my presence again." He paused just briefly in the doorway, sparing Bobby a last, scathing look. "You always were a selfish bastard, Bobby. Thanks for nothing, little brother."

And then he was gone, and Bobby was alone once more.

* * *

Jimmy Deakins was just on his way into ICU when Frank Goren stormed out, and the two men only barely avoided colliding.

"Frank?" Deakins asked in confusion. The other man paused for just a moment, looking angrily from the captain to the doors of the ICU, before shaking his head and continuing on to the elevators without saying another word. Deakins watched him go, dread filling his gut. He then hurried into the ICU, and through to Bobby's room, genuinely fearful of what he might find.

"Bobby?"

He faltered in the doorway, momentarily taken aback by the heart-breaking sight of his distraught detective before hurrying over to the bedside.

"Bobby? Are you with me? C'mon, talk to me. What happened?"

"Frank," Bobby choked out in between sobs. "He… He just w… wanted m… money. That's all… all he came for. B… Because he owes someone t… twenty-eight thousand…"

Deakins felt his stomach turn. So it was what they'd all feared. The supposedly genuine big brother act had turned out to be just that after all – an act.

"That lousy son of a bitch," he growled. "Bobby, I am so sorry."

"He… He called me selfish," Bobby whispered miserably, and the captain did a double-take.

"Selfish? You? You can't be serious! Selfish is the one thing you're not! Bobby, that isn't true. Please, tell me that you didn't believe him!"

For a long, torturous moment, Bobby didn't respond. But then, to Deakins' great relief, he gave a quick shake of his head.

"No," he mumbled. "I… I know he's full of shit. He was j… just trying to guilt me into giving him the money. But… I told him that I couldn't. I said I was going to need it… that I was going to have to renovate my apartment and buy a… a wheelchair… He didn't want to hear it."

Deakins sighed softly.

"I really am sorry, Bobby. That was the last thing you needed."

"I thought he was here for me this time," Bobby said miserably. "I really thought… So stupid."

"No," Deakins argued softly. "You're not stupid for hoping, Bobby. And we all thought he was genuine. You weren't alone there. The only one, I think, who never trusted him was Alex."

Bobby went quiet for a moment before looking up at the captain through tear-blurred eyes.

"I… I need her," he whispered plaintively. "I need to… to be able to see her. Please, can you get her?"

Deakins squeezed Bobby's shoulder gently, silently thankful that he wasn't just shutting down again, as he was so often inclined to do.

"I'll get her," he promised. "Just hold on, okay? I'll go get her right now."

* * *

Alex had just finished breakfast when Deakins strode in, with an orderly and a wheelchair right behind him.

"Captain?" Alex asked uneasily. "What's going on?"

"We're taking you up to see Bobby," Deakins told her, and none of them missed the urgency in his voice. Alex felt a chill race down her spine.

"Why? What's happened? Is he okay?"

"Physically, yes," Deakins answered. "Emotionally, no. Frank finally showed his true colours. He didn't come for Bobby. He's here because he owes someone twenty-eight thousand dollars, and he wanted Bobby to give him the money."

Alex went from dismay to pure, white hot rage in the space of just a few seconds.

"Where is the son of a bitch?" Alex demanded to know as the orderly helped her into the wheelchair. "Where is he hiding?"

"Nowhere in the hospital, I imagine," Deakins answered grimly. "I passed him on my way in to see Bobby, and believe me when I say that he wasn't stopping for anyone."

"Goddamn son of a bitch," Alex hissed in fury, and Deakins closed his hand gently over hers in a subtle effort to calm her.

"Don't, Alex. Don't let the anger rule you." She looked up at him tearfully, and she went on quietly. "It won't do you any good, and it definitely won't do Bobby any good. Not right now."

In response to his gentle, reasoned argument, Alex drew in a long breath, and nodded.

"Okay," she said softly, in a significantly calmer voice. "Take me to see Bobby."

* * *

The look of relief and gratitude on Bobby's face when he saw her was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Silently cursing her inability to get up out of the wheelchair, Alex had to settle for reaching up to grasp his hand.

"I'm sorry," Bobby choked out, with a desperation that was heart-breaking. "I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't mean to. Please forgive me. Please don't leave…"

With every fibre of her being, Alex wished she could get her hands on Frank Goren, and throttle him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised him. "You're stuck with me, Bobby. You got that?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered in a barely audible voice. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

"Bobby, stop it," Alex told him gently. "Stop apologising. I'm not going anywhere. I promise you I'm not. None of us are. We're all here for you."

"Alex is right, sweetheart," Helen reassured him. "You're a part of our family. We all love you very much, and we're all here to help you. You're not alone, Bobby."

The tears came in a veritable flood, and all of a sudden Bobby was incapable of responding. Helen leaned down to kiss his forehead, and murmur soft reassurances to him.

Standing back a little, Jaime smiled, her expression reflecting both sadness and relief.

"You see, Captain Deakins? You don't have to worry. Mom has well and truly taken him under her wing. He's not going to feel abandoned for very long. In fact, it may not be long before he has more company and support than he can bear."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Deakins remarked with a wry smile. "I think he could bear a fair bit of it."

Jaime looked back to the crippled detective, and the way that he was practically lapping up the attention that Helen, in particular, was lavishing on him, and she smiled.

"You may be right about that," she agreed.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Alex murmured later on, once they were finally alone. Bobby regarded her with a puzzled gaze.

"For what?"

"That Frank lived up to his reputation."

Fresh pain lit up Bobby's eyes as his thoughts were reluctantly turned back to his brother. To Alex's quiet relief, though, he made no attempt to turn away from her again.

"I… I thought maybe he was just kidding, but he wasn't. I don't have the kind of money he wants. I… I barely have ten thousand saved, and that's going to go fast. I just can't afford to bail him out. I don't even know how I'm going to cope."

"I'm proud of you, Bobby," Alex told him softly. He looked adorably confused at that.

"Why?"

"For putting yourself first for once. Frank has no right to expect anything of you. You owe it to yourself to just be thinking of yourself. That's why I'm proud of you."

He stared up at the ceiling miserably.

"It doesn't seem like much."

"Well, it is. I know you, Bobby, and I know that you've always put others ahead of yourself. It's time you started thinking about you."

"Your… your mom," Bobby murmured, changing the subject. "She meant what she said, didn't she?"

Alex smiled at the memory of her mother's vehement promises of support.

"She meant every word of it, Bobby, including the bit about you being part of our family. She especially meant the bit about how much we love you, and that you're not alone."

He answered that with silence, and she happily gave him the time he needed to work through it in his own mind.

"I appreciate that," he said finally, "but…"

'It might take you some time to get used to it?" Alex offered when he hesitated. Bobby nodded, looking sheepish.

"Yeah. Something like that."

Alex allowed her gaze to flicker along his body, to the legs he could no longer use. She didn't know how willing he might be to talk about it all, but she decided to try.

"It doesn't have to be the end of anything, Bobby. There's still so much you can do."

He regarded her with raw pain in his eyes.

"It… It's the end of our partnership."

Alex felt a very real stab of pain straight through her heart. He was right, of course.

"But not the end of our friendship," she countered gently. "We're both still here, Bobby, and we still have each other."

Bobby's hand closed around hers, and squeezed lightly.

"Right now… That's all that's keeping me going."

Alex watched him for a while before squeezing his hand again.

"Then hang on to that, Bobby. Hang on, and don't you dare let go."

He drew in a shuddering breath.

"I am so scared," he admitting, his voice trembling just slightly.

"I know," Alex murmured. "I am too, but we'll get through this together."

"Don't leave, Alex. Please…?"

"I won't," she promised him softly.

* * *

Emily Goren looked up, startled, as her husband stormed into their hotel room, clearly in a royally foul mood.

"Frank…?"

"Start packing," he snapped. "We're going home. Tonight."

She didn't move, and he rounded on her angrily.

"Didn't you hear me? I said we're leaving!"

"I heard you, Frank," Emily replied coolly. "And I'm not packing so much as a single shirt until you tell me why."

"Never mind," he growled. "Just do what I say, okay?"

Slowly, Emily walked over to where her husband was searching through the mini bar. She pushed the door firmly closed, and he was barely able to get his hands out of the way in time to avoid getting his fingers caught.

"Goddamn it, Emily…"

"The last time you turned to the booze," she said quietly, "it was because you were in debt to a loan shark to the tune of eleven thousand dollars. How much is it this time, Frank?"

He froze, staring at his wife with a mixture of disbelief and mortification. Emily didn't flinch in the face of his incredulity.

"Well?" she pressed him. "And please tell me you didn't hit your brother for a loan…" The look on Frank's face spoke in volumes, and she took a step back from him in horror. "Oh my god… You did… Frank, how could you?"

"He's my brother!" Frank burst out. "He's supposed to be there for me!"

"For God's sake, Frank, he was shot four times! He's never going to walk again! How could you be so insensitive?"

Walking around, Frank literally threw himself down onto the sofa.

"I only asked him for a loan. I would've paid him back. Selfish son of a bitch…"

An instant later, his head rocked to the side as Emily slapped him hard across the face.

"Em…" he gasped, stunned by the unexpected blow. Emily stood over him, radiating fury.

"You're the one who's selfish, Frank. It's bad enough that you've gone and gotten yourself into debt, _again_, but we could have worked that out. But to arrange this trip just so that you can hit your crippled brother for a loan?"

"We didn't know what had happened until we got here!" Frank argued.

"No, we didn't," Emily agreed. "And you should have immediately shelved all thoughts of asking for money. You had no right to put that on him, Frank. No right at all."

"I know," he whispered, his shoulders slumping heavily. "Oh god, I know. What have I done, Emily?"

"Hopefully nothing irreparable," she replied grimly. "But I'll tell you one thing, Frank. You are not running away from this. You are _not_ running away from your brother."

Frank looked up at her bitterly.

"Is there any point in staying around? It's not like he'll want to see me."

"That may be," Emily agreed. "But even if he doesn't… and he'd be perfectly within his rights not to want to see you… you are not going to deprive your daughter of the opportunity to spend time with her uncle."

Frank groaned, and pressed one hand over his face in distress.

"How did I manage to fuck things up so badly, again?"

"I'm not going to argue psychology with you, Frank," Emily replied. "What I am going to do is take Sophie to the hospital to see Bobby. You're going to stay here, and think things over very carefully, and when we come back, you had better have a genuine apology ready to give to Bobby. Do you understand me, Frank?"

He nodded bleakly as she turned and headed towards their daughter's bedroom.

"Yeah," he muttered dismally. "I got it."

* * *

_tbc..._


	10. Facing A New Reality

A/N: _My apologies for the delay on this chapter. It would have been posted over a week ago, except that I've been ill and didn't have the energy to do anything. Literally. On the bright side, the delay means the chapter is rather longer than it would have been if I'd been able to post it a week ago._

* * *

When Emily Goren walked into the sterile hospital room, Alex didn't know what surprised her more – that she had managed to get Sophie past the duty nurse, or the bright balloons and flowers that they carried between them.

"We thought it was high time that Bobby had something other than hospital equipment to look at," Emily said with a smile as she set the flowers down on the table beside the bed. "Sophie, honey, tie those balloons to the end of the bed, would you?"

"How?" Alex asked, confused. "The nurses… They wouldn't let anything in… How?"

"Well," Emily said, "firstly, the flowers are specifically non-allergenic. Secondly, it helps that I went through medical school with this hospital's Chief of Surgeons." She paused, looking down at Bobby's sleeping form sadly. "How is he doing?"

At that, Alex's expression hardened, and she suddenly found herself having to wipe furiously at her eyes.

"Just great," she answered bitterly. "He cried himself to sleep, literally. He's scared, and hurting, and the only family he has abandoned him because he wouldn't hand over all of his savings. He's just wonderful."

Emily didn't flinch in the face of Alex's hostility. She'd anticipated it, and was prepared to weather it.

"I'm so sorry that Frank did that," she said quietly. "I promise you, if I'd known, I would have stopped him. But you're wrong about one thing, Alex."

"Oh? What?"

"Frank isn't the only family that Bobby has. He also has me and Sophie, and I know he has you, and your family. He's not alone, Alex. He might feel that way at the moment, but he's not. Maybe, between us, we can convince him of that sooner rather than later."

Alex blinked, completely taken aback by Emily's declaration of support. She had fully expected her to argue on her husband's behalf, and it well and truly threw her that she wasn't doing that. Emily saw it in her expression, and smiled sadly.

"You thought I'd side with my husband, didn't you?"

"To be honest?" Alex said. "Yes, I did."

Emily nodded calmly.

"Well, I'm not. Not when he's the one in the wrong. We left him back at the hotel to think very carefully about what he's done, and the best way that he can apologise for it. If Bobby doesn't want anything to do with him after that, then so be it, but I want him to know that he has mine and Sophie's unconditional love and support."

Finally, Alex felt herself beginning to relax as she realised that Emily was being sincere. Then, her attention was drawn to Sophie, who had taken it on herself to pull a chair over to the bedside so that she could climb up. She then leaned over, and kissed Bobby gently on the cheek.

The contact stirred Bobby from sleep, and his eyes fluttered open. Sophie greeted him with a small, warm smile that Alex thought was spookily reminiscent of Bobby.

"Hi, Uncle Bobby."

Despite the misery and depression that threatened to weigh him down, Bobby was able to somehow find it in himself to return her smile.

"Hi, Sophie."

She didn't hesitate, but leaned over again and wrapped her arms around him in a loving hug.

"I'm sorry my daddy upset you," she told him in a muffled voice. "Don't worry, though. Mommy put him in his place."

Alex's eyebrows shot up at the little girl's choice of phrase, while Bobby looked quizzically at Emily.

"She's right," Emily confirmed with an unapologetic shrug. "I did. He deserved it, too. He had no right to do that to you, Bobby. None at all."

Pain flickered in Bobby's eyes.

"He… said I let him down."

Beside him, he felt Alex stiffen, but Emily spoke before his diminutive partner had the chance to voice her objections.

"The hell you did," Emily growled. "He let himself down, and he's got no business putting it on you." She paused, shaking her head and taking a calming breath. "He's tried to worm his way out of trouble one too many times, and now it's come back to bite him on the ass."

Sophie giggled wildly at her mother's words, drawing an amused smile from both Bobby and Alex.

"I probably shouldn't say that in front of her," Emily said with a roll of her eyes, "but the truth will out."

Alex looked back to Bobby, and was gratified to see him slowly begin to relax. It seemed he was actually beginning to accept what Emily was saying. Or, she reflected sadly, he was simply too exhausted to argue.

Gradually, his attention was drawn first to the balloons, and then to the flowers.

"Thankyou," he murmured, genuinely touched by the simple gesture. Emily hesitated only a moment before leaning in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"You're welcome. And if there's anything at all that you want, just tell us."

Bobby hesitated, his gaze going to Alex, who smiled wryly in understanding.

"Books," Alex said quietly. "He'd like some books."

"I will gladly buy some books for you," Emily agreed with enthusiasm. "Just give me a list of titles that you want."

"No… No need to buy them," Bobby stammered, his face going red at the generous offer. "If you could go to my apartment, there are plenty there. You… You could bring some of them in."

"And I'll wager you've read them all more than once," Emily commented. Alex laughed softly, smiling at Bobby with open affection.

"You'd be right about that. I think sometimes you'd be hard pressed to find a book that he _hasn't_ read."

Emily grinned.

"I'll take on that challenge. I'll bring you whatever books from home that you want, but I'm going to bring you at least one thing that you haven't already read."

Bobby smiled in amusement, his miseries momentarily forgotten in the gentle banter that was taking place.

"Good luck," he told her with a small grin. "You'll need it."

* * *

_1 Hogan Place  
__A few days later_

Ron Carver stood in his office, staring at Jack McCoy in open-mouthed shock, as McCoy related some very unpleasant news to him.

"Bail? Dylan Black has been given bail, _yesterday_? Jack, he tried to kill two New York police detectives, and he's not even tried to deny it! How could he be given bail? And how could you wait until now to tell me?"

McCoy looked no happier about it than Carver felt, and he shook his head in aggravation.

"We got the wrong judge. You know what Todd McCallef is like."

Carver groaned when he heard that.

"We had to get the one judge who was a criminal rights' and civil liberties activist before becoming a judge. Fantastic."

"He gave a nice little speech about being innocent until proven guilty, with a none-too-gentle allusion to police brutality, and that keeping Black in custody any longer would infringe on his rights. So now we've got a homicidal cop hater in the same hospital as the two cops he tried to kill, and no police guard. And as for not telling you, you should have gotten the memo that I emailed to you yesterday after the hearing."

"I was in court all afternoon, and well into the evening," Carver said grimly. "I didn't have the chance to check my email before now. You'll have to warn Captain Deakins, Jack. He'll want to ensure a police guard is placed on both Detective Eames and Detective Goren's doors, just in case Mr Black decides to go wandering."

McCoy grimaced, not looking forward to the prospect of telling Deakins that the man who had tried to kill his two detectives was free.

"Thanks, Ron. Remind me to repay that favour some time."

Carver didn't crack a smile.

"This is serious, Jack. That lunatic tried to kill Goren and Eames. He nearly succeeded with Detective Goren."

"I know," McCoy sighed. "Damn it… Okay, I'll call him now. Where are you headed?"

"To the hospital," Carver answered grimly. "It's high time I payed the detectives a visit."

* * *

Carver headed directly to the ICU. He would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was more than a little scared at the prospect of facing Bobby Goren. Despite Jim Deakins' efforts to insist otherwise, he couldn't help feeling at least partially responsible for the detective's bleak situation, and uncertain future.

He knew in himself that he could have obtained a warrant for Bobby and Alex had he simply gone to the right judge. There had been no thought in his mind, though, for the safety of the detectives. Instead, his mind had been focused very firmly on rule of law, and the likelihood that any evidence they obtained with such a warrant would be thrown out by another judge further down the track.

It weighed heavily on his shoulders now, that if he had just gotten the warrant, then they would have returned to Dylan Black's warehouse with back-up, and neither detective would probably be in the hospital now. Certainly, Bobby wouldn't be faced with the prospect of losing his career.

He felt responsible, as surely as if he had pulled the trigger himself.

Rounding the corner, Carver entered the ICU and headed down the corridor to Bobby's room. He heard the commotion long before he reached the door. There was the distinct sound of a child's laughter, supplements by the more subdued sound of adult laughter. Holding to the slender hope that the atmosphere in the room would be better than he'd expected, Ron Carver walked into Bobby's hospital room.

* * *

Bobby Goren was walking a very fine line – pun not intended – between amusement and panic, and he suspected that the only things keeping him from descending into outright panic were the presence of his partner at his side, and the little girl who was currently settled contentedly on his lap. If not for them, the fact that he was sitting in a wheelchair might well have pushed him right over the edge.

As it was, he couldn't suppress the amused grin on his face as Sophie's wild giggles filled the room.

"Not funny, Sophie!" Emily chided, but she too was grinning.

"Yes it was," Sophie argued. "Uncle Bobby did a wheelie! Can we do it again?"

"I don't think so, honey," Bobby said with a short, if somewhat strained laugh. "One was exciting enough."

"Not to mention completely unintentional," John Eames remarked, still wincing at the mental image of Bobby very nearly going over backwards in the wheelchair only minutes after being settled into it. "You need to take it a little slower, son. Try not to be quite so eager."

"Funny, Dad," Alex growled, a note of warning in her tone, but John's dry humour was not lost on Bobby, who laughed softly.

"Thanks for the tip. I'll try to remember that."

"Does it feel okay?" Deakins asked in concern as he watched from the other side of the room. "Because it could be a month or more before one's ready for you."

Bobby's breath caught in his throat at the question, but a small, warm hand closing over his own effectively staved off the impending panic attack. He spared Alex a grateful look before answering.

"It's okay, I guess. But I'm not going to be able to answer that properly until my wrist comes out of the plaster."

"I think you'll be fine with this chair for the interim," Dr Fielding mused. "It's going to take some getting used to, just to state the obvious, but I think you'll adjust okay. What you are going to need, though, are gloves to protect your hands. Leather fingerless gloves would be best. You'd be amazed at how fast blisters can form in the palms of your hands."

Bobby nodded, but anything he'd planned on saying was lost as his gaze went to someone who was standing the doorway of his room, looking on in silence. All eyes turned in reaction, and all of a sudden Ron Carver found himself the focus of several intense stares. Coughing nervously, he turned his attention to Bobby and Alex.

"Detectives… I… ah… I apologise for the intrusion…"

"It's okay," Bobby murmured. "Come in, Mr Carver. Please…"

Carver ventured slowly into the room, and Bobby spoke again hesitantly.

"You're just in time. They're moving me out of ICU today."

The ADA nodded. All of a sudden, he was feeling nauseous, and was heartily wishing that he hadn't come. And yet, at the same time, he thought could see no anger or condemnation in the detective's eyes.

"That's wonderful news," he agreed, but was unable to keep his voice from breaking slightly. Any hopes he might have had that Bobby wouldn't notice were short-lived. Bobby's eyes narrowed just slightly, and then he spoke in a low, calm voice.

"Could Alex and I have a minute alone with Mr Carver, please?"

It was with some difficulty that Carver didn't simply turn around and bolt from the room. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing he had ever done to stand there and maintain eye contact with Bobby while the room emptied of all but the three of them. Then, once they were alone, Alex spoke up with a touch of incredulity in her voice.

"Do you think we blame you for what happened? You do, don't you…?"

Carver shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't you?" he asked softly. "I would, if I were you."

Bobby glanced at Alex, and then nodded to one of the now vacant chairs.

"As much as I'm sure you're loathed to give up your height advantage, do you want to sit down? I'm getting a crick in the neck here."

It was with a wry smile that Carver sat down in the chair nearest Bobby. Alex smirked as well, and elbowed her partner gently.

"Now you know how I've felt the last four years."

Bobby had the good grace to smile before looking back to Carver.

"This wasn't your fault, Mr Carver. We don't blame you for it."

"If I'd just gotten the search warrant for you…" he stammered, but Bobby shook his head.

"You were doing your job, looking at the bigger picture. You knew that we didn't have probable cause, and that even if we got a warrant, anything we found would have been thrown out later on. If anyone's to blame for this…"

"If you say you're to blame, I'm going to hit you, Goren," Alex growled threateningly. Bobby smiled reassuringly at her.

"I was going to say, if anyone's to blame for this, it's Black."

Carver fought to hold Bobby's stare. Hearing absolution from the detective's own lips did nothing to assuage his guilt. If anything, it increased his desire to sink even further in self-loathing. The only thing that kept him above the surface of those stormy waters was the knowledge that to allow himself that indulgence would surely be the most selfish thing he could ever do.

"What are you going to do?" he asked finally, saying the first words that came to mind. Bobby flinched visibly, and Carver silently cursed himself for the insensitive question. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "That was thoughtless."

"No, it's okay," Bobby answered quietly, though his tone suggested that it was anything but. "I… I don't know."

"We're all still trying to adjust," Alex said gently, reaching across to take Bobby's hand in her own, and giving it a gentle squeeze in a visible show of support.

"I understand," Carver said. "I expect you don't want to hear this, but I need to say it. I _am_ sorry. I feel that I let you both down in the worst possible way, and I'm sorry for that."

"We're not angry with you, Mr Carver," Alex told him firmly. "But if you really feel you need to redeem yourself, then do everything you can to make sure that scum Black never gets out of prison. If you can do that, then consider yourself well and truly forgiven."

Carver felt his stomach drop at her words. He wanted nothing more than to see that done for them but how to break the news that Black was free on bail? Something of his emotion must have been reflected in his face, for Bobby spoke in a low, tense voice that held more than a slight twinge of fear.

"What is it? Something about Black? He hasn't been released, has he?"

Carver felt sick to his stomach as he relayed the news to the detectives.

"In a manner of speaking. Jack McCoy informed me that Dylan Black was freed on bail late yesterday afternoon, courtesy of Judge McCallef."

"Son of a bitch!" Alex exploded, the rage all too clear in her voice. Bobby, however, never made a sound. Instead, even as Carver watched, all colour drained from the detective's face and his breath began to catch in his throat.

"Detective…?" Carver said tensely as he shifted forward in the chair. Bobby's good hand clutched at the side of the wheelchair in a death grip, and he no longer appeared to be seeing anyone. Realising something was very wrong, Carver stumbled to his feet and strode from the room to find help, leaving Alex alone with Bobby.

"Bobby?" Alex asked, frightened by his reaction. If he heard her, though, he gave no indication of it and, even as she watched, his eyes began to roll back and consciousness began to slip away from him. Movement in the doorway drew her attention, and she looked up as Fielding strode back in.

"What happened?" he asked as he grabbed the oxygen mask and unit from the bedside and brought over to Bobby.

"Mr Carver," Alex said shakily. "He told us that Dylan Black was granted bail and Bobby… He just…"

"He's having a panic attack," Fielding told her as he fitted the mask carefully over Bobby's mouth and nose and started the flow of oxygen. "C'mon, Bobby, breathe for me. That's it…"

"Is he…?"

The words caught in Alex's throat, but Fielding was quick to reassure her.

"It's a panic attack, Alex. Not a heart attack. He'll be fine, once he calms down a little."

A shiver went through her.

"I've never seen him have a panic attack before," she admitted softly. Fielding glanced at her sadly.

"It probably won't be the last time you see it happen, either. This is something we all need to be prepared for, Alex. He's not going to be the same man that you knew him to be before this happened."

A frown flickered across her face at his words, but she said nothing. Instead, she gently rubbed Bobby's back and murmured soft reassurances to him. Slowly, very slowly, Bobby seemed to regain his composure. His breathing slowed once more, and evened out, and the panic faded somewhat from his eyes as he was able to focus again.

"You okay?" Alex asked softly, and he shuddered in response.

"N… No… But I guess there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

Alex frowned darkly, and looked back up at Fielding.

"There must be something the hospital can do about Black."

Fielding regarded them both thoughtfully.

"You really feel a threat from him, even in here, don't you?"

"Dr Fielding, look at us," Alex said softly. She glanced anxiously at Bobby, who as yet had not spoken. "Look at Bobby! That son of a bitch would have killed us, except that Bobby had the gumption to pick up his gun and shoot him. We have no reason to think he wouldn't try again, if he got the chance. You look us both in the eye, and tell us we don't have anything to worry about."

Nodding his understanding, Fielding pulled a chair over and sat down opposite the two detectives.

"All right, then. Let's talk this through."

"He'll come after us," Bobby said suddenly, speaking in a hoarse and trembling voice that was muffled by the oxygen mask. "Killing us would mean a free pass to him. If we're not alive to testify against him, then he could throw out any excuse he likes to a jury."

"Okay," Fielding conceded. "Well, what if I tell you that Mr Black is due to be discharged from the hospital later today? What if I promise you both that I'll be speaking to the Administrator about placing extra security on every entrance to ensure that he won't be able to re-enter once he's left, and what if we arrange to place security in your ward? Specifically, we'll put a guard on the doors to each of your rooms."

Alex and Bobby looked at each other, and then Bobby spoke tentatively.

"You… You'd do that?"

"Absolutely," Fielding confirmed. "You… both of you… have been through more than any one person should ever reasonably have to endure. I'll be damned if I'll stand back and allow you both to live in a state of fear while you're in this hospital. And if the hospital won't come to the party…"

"Then the NYPD will," another voice stated fiercely, and they all looked around to see Deakins had appeared in the doorway. He looked angrier than either Bobby or Alex could ever remember. "I'm arranging for police protection for you both. Dylan Black won't be getting anywhere near either of you, I promise."

Fielding nodded his agreement, and then he looked back to Bobby and Alex.

"How are you feeling now, Bobby? A little calmer?"

With a hand that trembled just slightly, Bobby removed the oxygen mask from his face.

"I… I'm sorry. I…"

"Don't," Fielding told him gently. "You don't have anything to apologise for, Bobby. You're totally within your rights to feel this way. Now tell me, do you think you'll be okay?"

Bobby nodded slowly, though the look in his eyes suggested he was less than certain.

"I think so."

"All right. Let me just check your blood pressure."

Silence fell while Fielding went through the motions of checking Bobby's blood pressure.

"A little high, but not unmanageable," Fielding murmured. "Tell me, would you feel better staying in the ICU for the time being, until we can organise the proper security?"

Bobby drew in a slow breath. He wanted to say yes, but his own mind fought against what he knew was an unreasonable and illogical decision.

"No," he said finally. "No, I'm ready to move into a regular ward. And besides, you said he was being discharged today, right?"

"Right," Fielding confirmed. Alex scowled, more than a little bitter at the knowledge that Black would soon be free to walk the streets, whilst she and Bobby were still virtually imprisoned within the hospital… and Bobby was facing the prospect of a life sentence in a wheelchair. It hardly seemed fair to her, and before she knew it fresh tears were working their way out of her eyes.

"Alex?" Deakins asked gently, and she wanted so badly to scream at him, to tell him to stop treating them both with kid gloves. She held her temper, though, hard as it was.

"It's not fair," she said hoarsely. "Black's going to walk free, while we…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. Deakins sighed.

"I'm not going to argue that he's only been released on bail. I agree with you, Alex. It's not fair. But what can we do now, except wait and hope that the jury returns a guilty verdict?"

"You think they wouldn't?" Bobby asked, and they all heard the tremor of fear in his voice. Deakins' stomach rolled unpleasantly. Raw fear was an emotion he had never imagined he would hear in Bobby's voice, and yet there it was.

"I'm saying he has himself a very cunning lawyer," Deakins answered. "But McCoy is one of the best, and Carver was saying just outside that he's going to offer his assistance. I think that between the two of them, Black doesn't have a hope."

"He's going to try and drag us through the mud before it's over," Alex said bitterly. Deakins nodded his agreement.

"Maybe, but it won't do him any good. We actually have IAB on our side this time, as well as the Chief of D's and the Commissioner. Your asses are covered, well and truly. You don't have to worry about backlash. Everyone who's important knows you did everything by the book. I want you both to stop worrying about that side of things, and focus on recovering. I'll have a police guard organised by the end of today, and I guarantee Black won't have the chance to get anywhere near you. All right?"

Bobby and Alex looked at each other, and then nodded slowly.

"Okay," Alex said softly, for the both of them.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" Fielding asked. Bobby didn't answer immediately, his attention fixed on his surroundings. His new room was a private one, in the same ward that Alex was in. Bobby suspected that wasn't exactly policy – after all, his injuries were markedly different to Alex's. He supposed, though, that they would move him again once Alex was discharged.

Right now, he was just grateful firstly to be out of the ICU, and secondly to be near to Alex.

He looked slowly around, taking in the bright, open room with its pale blue curtains. It was so utterly different to the sterile, almost claustrophobic feel of his room in ICU, and he felt a small but significant feeling of relief start to permeate his being.

"It's okay," he conceded, deciding that if he had to spend a lengthy period in the hospital, then he thought he could cope with being in a room such as this. Helen Eames leaned down to press a light kiss to the top of his head.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. We'll have this place brightened up in no time."

She didn't go so far as to suggest it could be homey, for which Bobby was intensely grateful. As pleasant as he was sure they could make the room for him, it would never be that. He was grateful, though, and he didn't have the words in him to express how much. The Eames family in particular had truly been his saving grace, pulling him back from the brink of utter devastation. He didn't think he would ever be able to thank them enough for their love and support, especially in the wake of his falling out with Frank.

His brother had come back to the hospital a few times since their argument, but they had only exchanged words once. The first time, under Emily's watchful stare, Frank had offered an apology for his behaviour. Bobby had listened, struggling to suppress the bitterness and anger. He wanted to reconcile with Frank, but it was simply too hard to put aside the hurt that his older brother had caused him.

In the days that followed, Emily and Sophie had come to see him both in the mornings and the afternoons. Sometimes Frank had been with them, most times not. When he had accompanied them, though, he'd stayed in the farthest corner and not said a word.

Bobby found he didn't particularly care either way. He was only grateful that Emily and Sophie continued to come to see him. It hurt enough that his relationship with Frank seemed beyond saving. It would have devastated him to have lost Emily and Sophie as well.

There was, however, one thing for which Bobby was grudgingly appreciative. Emily had told him one evening, when Alex had had to return to her own room for her evening meal and John and Helen Eames had kindly taken Sophie with them to get something to eat, that Frank had taken it on himself to visit their mother at Carmel Ridge. According to both Emily and a brief call he'd had from Dr Shimo, Frank had tried to explain to Frances what had happened to Bobby, and why she had not seen or heard from him. How successful Frank had been, Bobby didn't know but he had to give Frank credit for at least having the guts to try.

It was more than he had expected Frank to have the courage to do, and that was saying a hell of a lot.

He himself had not called to speak to his mother. He'd thought about it carefully but in the end he'd decided against it, and he attributed it primarily to his depressed state of mind that he didn't feel any guilt over that decision. Right at that time, though, he barely had the stamina to see himself through each day. There was no way that he could offer any degree of mental or emotional support to his ill mother.

For that reason alone, Bobby was reluctantly grateful to Frank that he was at least making an effort. Not that he doubted whether their mother would appreciate it. After all, it was _Frank_, and he didn't even need to show up to garner her praise…

He forcibly put the brakes on that unpleasant train of thought, and slowly back to the present to discover everyone in the room watching him in amused silence. His face promptly turned a dull shade of red, and he unsuccessfully sought out somewhere to look where he wasn't staring at anyone.

"I… I'm sorry," he mumbled, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Don't be," Alex reassured him, and though he could hear amusement in her voice, he thought he also detected a note of sympathy. She knew why he was embarrassed, and it wasn't as though it was something that hadn't happened before. She was just usually the only one around him when it did.

"You care to tell us what you were thinking so deeply about there?" John Eames wondered, and Bobby sighed softly.

"Just… How lucky I am to have all of you supporting me."

"You're family, son," John told him quietly. "We don't abandon family."

"All right," Fielding said with a smile. "Everyone out. We need to get Bobby settled in here, and the nurses are going to need to come and do their jobs as well. So let's give him a little privacy, shall we?"

Slowly, the room emptied until only Alex remained. Fielding regarded her kindly.

"Alex, why don't you go on back to your room? Get some rest, and you can come back a little bit later. This is going to take a while."

Alex looked over at Bobby, looking as though she was going to argue, but a reassuring smile from Bobby stopped any possible protest she might have intended to make.

"I'll be okay, Alex," he reassured her. "Besides, now you're only a few doors away. It… It's incredible how much difference just that thought can make."

She visibly relaxed at the genuine emotion behind his words, and instead reached out to gently squeeze his hand.

"Okay, Bobby. If you're sure…"

"I am. I'll be okay."

With that assurance, she manoeuvred herself awkwardly out of the room. Fielding waited until she'd gone before pulling a chair over to sit in front of Bobby.

"Tell me, Bobby, how are you really feeling right now? No holds barred. Be honest with me."

Bobby regarded him with obvious scepticism.

"Why? Please don't tell me that you're studying Psychology, and you want to use me as a case study…"

Fielding laughed softly, and shook his head.

"No, nothing like that, I promise you. The fact is that your wrist is healing well, and it won't be long before you're ready to start with some physical therapy."

If anything, Bobby's scepticism only increased.

"What physical therapy? I'm paralysed, Dr Fielding. No physical therapy is going to give me back the use of my legs."

"No," Fielding agreed, "but it will teach you to use the wheelchair properly, and help you to strengthen your arms and upper body. We're also going to assign you an occupational therapist, who'll be able to teach you all the basic things."

"Like what?" Bobby asked hoarsely.

"Well, like being able to get out of bed in the morning, for starters," Fielding answered. "Basic tasks like showering yourself… Preparing your own meals… Most importantly, though, the therapist will be able to help you learn how to cope with the stress that your limitations are going to cause. A whole lot of little things that you used to take for granted are suddenly going to seem like major trials to you, Bobby. Now, I'll ask you again, how are you feeling?"

Bobby stared down at his paralysed legs, his mind reeling. This was something that he couldn't deal with simply by reading a few books. There was no book that could possibly have prepared him for this.

"I… I think I feel sick," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," Fielding murmured, sounding genuinely regretful. "Please understand that I'm not trying to make this worse for you. What I'm hoping is that you'll be able to at least partially come to terms with what's ahead of you before you have your first physio sessions. Too often someone in your position will refuse to look ahead, and when they do get to the physio side of it, it's too much for them to cope with. I don't want that to happen to you, Bobby."

Slowly, Bobby looked back up at Fielding, and it was all the doctor could do not to cringe at that haunted gaze.

"How am I supposed to learn to do all of those things again when I feel so damned useless?" he asked miserably.

"We'll work through that," Fielding promised him. "We'll work through it together. I promise you that by the time you're ready to be discharged, you'll wonder how you could ever have thought that."

"I find that hard to believe," Bobby whispered, not quite able to stave off the tears.

"I know you do," Fielding conceded. "But it won't last forever. You'll see. Just trust me, okay? Can you do that?"

Bobby let his breath out in a rush, and nodded as he realised that yes, he could trust this man. Fielding patted him gently on the shoulder.

"Okay, then. Now, just sit tight there for a minute, and I'll be right back with a couple of our interns, and we'll get you back into bed."

"Thankyou," Bobby whispered. Fielding left quietly, and Bobby pressed his hand over his eyes. He really was feeling sick now, and he wanted nothing more than to be back in bed, shut his eyes and let the world retreat for a little while. He understood what Fielding was trying to tell him, and it made sense, but he wasn't quite ready to face up to it. It wasn't that he was in denial. There was little denying any of it. No, he just wasn't ready to move forward at full throttle.

One day at a time, he reminded himself tiredly. Just one day at a time…

The door slid open but Bobby didn't bother looking up. The interns were perfectly capable of putting him back in bed without his cooperation, and he saw no need to acknowledge their presence. It wasn't until he heard the unmistakable sound of the door being closed and locked, and the curtains being drawn to shut out any prying eyes, that Bobby finally looked up.

Dylan Black grinned down at him like a piranha, showing cruel delight at the stark fear that registered instantly in Bobby's eyes.

"Hey, Detective Goren. How're you doing?"

Bobby suddenly found himself paralysed in more ways than one. He couldn't speak, couldn't move his arms, and he could barely breathe. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"What's the matter, Detective? You scared of me? Well, maybe you're smarter than I thought you were. But you know what? I'm not a complete bastard. I'm gonna give you as much of a chance as you gave me."

Bobby frowned at that, Black's words jolting him out of his mental paralysis.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Exactly what I said," Black replied. "Except, you're a bit luckier than I was. I don't have a gun to hold on you, and threaten you with."

"You son of a bitch, we never threatened you!" Bobby burst out. "I never held my gun on you! We were there to talk to you, and that's all! You… It was _you_…"

He trailed off, his breath coming in shaky gasps. Black, far from looking agitated, seemed amused.

"Your word against mine. You might have gotten those IAB bastards on your side, but just wait til the news tonight."

Bobby felt a chill at Black's words, and what they insinuated.

"What have you done, Dylan?"

"Oh, I haven't done anything yet," Black replied calmly. Too calmly, to Bobby's way of thinking. "I'm going to, though, and I'm gonna make sure the whole fucking city knows it was self-defence."

Slowly, it dawned on Bobby what Black was planning on doing.

"You're going to… to kill me… and make it look like self-defence? Dylan, you're out of your mind…"

Black grinned.

"C'mon, Detective. I'll give you a fighting chance. I'll even let you take the first swing. C'mon, you fucking coward, stand up and be a man! Stand up and fight, damn it!"

And it was at that point that Bobby realised that Black didn't know he was paralysed. Heart pounding, Bobby tried desperately to stall for time, at the same time wondering desperately where Fielding was… where _anyone_ was.

"Let's talk about this, Dylan…"

"No!" Black exploded. "I'm done talking!"

"You do this now, and you'll never leave this hospital alive."

"Oh, yeah, that definitely sounds like a threat."

"It's not a threat," Bobby snapped. "Damn it, Dylan, I'm trying to stop you from doing something that will result in you being shot dead!"

Black leaned in close to Bobby, his eyes wild with barely-suppressed rage.

"I'm counting on it," he hissed. "I don't want to live through this. I just want to be sure that _you_ don't live through it, either. I'd like to include your pretty partner in that, but the bitch is never fucking alone! There's always someone with her! You, on the other hand… I guess you're not as popular, huh? I mean, I just walked in here, and no one looked twice at me! Seriously, it doesn't seem like they give a rat's ass about you, my friend. You're expendable, that's what you are."

A sharp stab of emotional pain sliced clean through Bobby's heart at Black's words. Any reply he might have been inclined to make, though, was lost at the sound of someone else outside the door.

"Bobby? What's going on? Why have you locked the door?"

It was Fielding. Black glared threateningly at him.

"Not a word," he hissed. "Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll go after your girlfriend next."

Bobby's mind immediately went into hyper drive. He could do as Black said, and keep quiet, but Fielding would probably suspect a possible suicide attempt and have security break the door open. To do that, unaware of Black's presence, could be disastrous. Armed or not, Black was still a dangerous man.

On the other hand, calling for help would probably prompt Black into attacking him… which he was clearly intending on doing anyway.

He didn't believe that Black would get to Alex. Once they knew Black was here, security and pretty much any cop in the hospital would descend on their ward within minutes. No, Black would not get anywhere near Alex, which left him with two choices. He could either call for help, or hope that he could deal with Black on his own. Either way, he was at risk of being killed.

"I need help!" Bobby bellowed suddenly, with a strength in his voice that he hadn't realised he had. "Dylan Black is in here! He's going to kill me!"

"You son of a bitch!" Black thundered in a rage, and launched himself at Bobby. Even as Black collided with him and sent them both crashing to the floor, Bobby heard an incoherent shout outside his door, followed by heavy footfalls. Then, Black was on top of him, and all he knew was the enraged face above his own, and the powerful hands that slid around his throat and squeezed.

Bobby's vision began to blur as he struggled, without success, to force Black off him. At some point his breath cut out, and his vision began to fade to darkness. In sheer desperation, Bobby stretched out his good arm in search of something to use as a weapon. His fingers closed over something smooth and hard, and he swung it with what little strength he had left.

The object in his hand struck something, and Black grunted audibly in pain. His grip loosened, and Bobby was able to push him off. He then rolled away, intent on putting as much distance between Black and himself as possible.

In the moments before he gave in to the darkness that was closing in on him, Bobby heard three things. He heard the sound of glass shattering explosively; he heard Black scream in rage, and he heard a single gunshot.

Then, darkness claimed him, and Bobby knew no more.

* * *

"Dear God," Fielding whispered as he stepped through the shattered doorway. He paused just long enough to confirm that Dylan Black was, indeed, dead before turning to Bobby.

"Will he be all right?" Deakins asked softly. He still held his gun up, locked in a vice-like grip. Fielding nodded slowly.

"I think so. He seems to be breathing okay on his own… but I think I'll put him on oxygen for a while just in case. Damn it, how the hell could this happen?"

"Bobby was right," Deakins said quietly. "In Black's mind, killing him and Alex meant a free ride out of trouble. Sorry son of a bitch…"

Finally holstering his weapon, Deakins took out his radio, and called for assistance.

"I think," Fielding mused ruefully as he looked around the now trashed room, "that we're going to have to find Detective Goren a new room."

* * *

Some minutes later, they brought Bobby out of the room to find not only Alex waiting there anxiously, but her parents, Emily, Sophie and, to Deakins' quiet surprise, Frank as well.

"Please say he's all right," Alex begged, tears filling her eyes. Fielding favoured her with a reassuring smile.

"He's going to be fine, Alex. He'll probably have a sore throat and might be lacking in the vocal department for a couple of days, but I think that will prove to be the worst of it."

"And Black?" she asked hoarsely.

"He's dead, Alex," Deakins told her. "He can't hurt either of you again. I promise you that."

"Where are you taking him?" Emily asked anxiously as they watched the orderlies taking Bobby away towards the entrance to the ward. "Not back to ICU?"

"No," Fielding answered. "I wouldn't do that to him. No, we're going to take him to a room in the Rehab wing. It's where we were going to place him after Alex here was discharged, but in light of what's just happened, we've decided to place him there a little ahead of schedule."

"So, I still have to travel half the distance of the hospital to spend time with him," Alex said bitterly.

"I'm afraid so," Fielding confirmed. "Unfortunately, we don't have any other rooms free, and don't you say he can share yours. You know that's not an option. There is a bright side, though. The rehab wing is much more flexible with its visiting hours. You'll be able to spend considerably more time with Bobby, especially once you've been discharged."

Though she appeared sceptical, Alex didn't argue further.

"How long will he be out for?" Frank asked in a notably subdued tone.

"Well, I sedated him," Fielding mused, "and we'll be keeping a close eye on his breathing to make sure he doesn't come into any difficulties… Barring any complications, I think he'll probably be awake again a bit later this evening. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go with Bobby, and make sure he's settled properly into his new room."

Once Fielding had gone, John Eames spoke softly.

"Jim, did you kill Black?"

"Yes," Deakins admitted without hesitation. "When I got in there after breaking through the door, Bobby had just managed to push Black off him, but then Black went at Bobby again, and so I shot him. I don't regret doing it, either."

"I'm not saying you should," John agreed. "Just… be careful? You know you did the right thing, and so do we, but IAB and the media could eat you alive over this."

Deakins smiled wearily.

"Not this time, John. Black has already tried to railroad Bobby and Alex once. IAB lost any sympathy they might have had for him very early on, and both Chief Bradshaw and the Commissioner are fully in support of Alex and Bobby. And regardless, I have a witness in Dr Fielding. He saw everything, and he'll be able to testify to IAB that I shot Black to defend Bobby."

"It's not fair," Alex whispered. "How much more can go wrong for him?"

Deakins rested his hand gently on her back, in an effort to convey some degree of reassurance.

"Darkest before the dawn, Alex. It'll get better for him… for both of you."

She looked away, tears wetting her cheeks.

"I'll believe that when it happens."

* * *

A few hours later, after shooting Dylan Black dead, Jimmy Deakins found himself standing in front of the Chief of Detectives, and Patrick and Jensen from IAB.

"Black's lawyer is raising hell," Patrick mused as he read through the incident report and statement that Deakins had dutifully submitted on the shooting. "Claims it was a cop conspiracy to kill his client."

"Black went after Goren," Deakins pointed out, and Bradshaw nodded calmly.

"We know, Jim. We have another witness, by the way. A nurse spoke to an officer this morning, saying she was concerned because Black was asking her a lot of questions about Goren."

"Such as?" Deakins wondered.

"Such as whether he was still in the ICU and, if not, then where. Such as whether he was ever left alone and, if so, then when. You get the idea. Apparently he got extremely aggravated when she wouldn't answer him. Then, it wasn't long after that when Black went missing from his ward."

"And because there was such a long delay in word coming from the DA's office about Black getting bail," Deakins said tightly, "there was no one to report Black's disappearing act. Son of a bitch… He could have killed Bobby!"

"But he didn't," Bradshaw assured him. "Now, though, we have a Press Conference to attend. Unfortunately, some kind soul let slip to the media that Black was shot dead while in police custody. Now, we need to go out there and make sure the real story is the one that makes tonight's news. Are we ready, gentlemen?"

There was a collective murmur of agreement. Yes, they were ready.

* * *

"A word of warning," Patrick said as they walked towards the Press room. "That Yancey woman is there."

"Wonderful," Deakins growled. "We can be sure then that whatever we say, she'll warp it. Damned woman has a vendetta against the police."

"We'll deal with her," Bradshaw reassured him. "Whatever she tries to throw at us, we'll deal with it."

* * *

The Press room was full when they arrived. Glancing wryly at the others, Bradshaw stepped up to the microphone, waited for a hush to descend on the room, and then spoke.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. This conference has been called with regards to the incident that took place here a few hours ago. Mr Dylan Black, who was under indictment for the attempted murder of two NYPD detectives, was shot and killed."

"Wasn't Dylan Black in police custody?" someone called out. "Can you explain how a man in police custody can end up dead?"

"Firstly," Bradshaw said firmly, "Dylan Black was no longer in police custody. He was granted bail yesterday afternoon, and consequently the police guard on his room was removed."

"So you're saying that any cop could have walked into his room and shot him?"

Bradshaw struggled to maintain his composure at the deliberately provocotive question.

"No, I'm saying that no cop was there to stop Black from walking _out_ of _his_ room to go looking for Detective Goren or Detective Eames."

"Chief Bradshaw, are you trying to imply that Dylan Black was looking for the detectives to kill them?"

Again, Bradshaw struggled not to cringe. He knew that voice, and that tone, only too well. Scanning the crowd of reporters, he quickly found the culprit.

"Ms Yancey, that is exactly what I'm implying."

Obviously not satisfied, Faith Yancey spoke up loudly, drawing all the attention in the room to herself.

"Well then, Chief, what would you say if I told you that I have in my hand a statement from an eye witness who says that Dylan Black went to Detective Goren's room to talk to him, and that Detective Goren attacked Dylan?"

For several long seconds, Bradshaw could only gape at her. Then, finally, he shook himself back to reality and spoke incredulously.

"I think I'd say that I would hope you'd hand that statement over to us, along with the identity of that so-called eyewitness, so that we can determine the legitimacy of it for ourselves."

"So you can bully them into changing their story in order to protect a corrupt police officer?" Yancey threw back at him. "I don't think so, Chief."

Bradshaw glanced back at Deakins briefly, and was not surprised to see a look of pure fury on the other man's face. Patrick and Jensen weren't looking especially happy themselves. Turning back to face the crowd, he spoke in a deliberately calm voice. He had anticipated the woman causing trouble, but not like this, and he knew he had to shred her ridiculous accusations before they took hold.

"Ms Yancey, would you care to read from that statement so that we can all hear? Tell us what your eyewitness claims happened between Dylan Black and Detective Goren."

Looking smug and sure of herself, Yancey began to read.

"I saw Dylan Black standing just inside the door of Detective Goren's room. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it looked like Dylan was pleading with the detective. The detective was just laughing at him. Then, I saw the detective get up out of his wheelchair, and run at Dylan. He grabbed him by the throat, and they both fell to the ground, struggling. Dylan managed to get the advantage, and he had just fought Detective Goren off when Captain James Deakins broke through the door and shot Dylan." She looked up at Bradshaw with a smirk. "What do you have to say about that, Chief Bradshaw?"

Bradshaw couldn't help himself. He burst into laughter, almost falling against the podium. A confused murmur swept through the crowd as they waited for Bradshaw to regain his composure, and explain his reaction.

"What's so funny, Chief?" Yancey demanded. "I have a signed statement here..."

"Probably sent to you by Black himself before he went after Detective Goren," Bradshaw cut her off, all humour gone from his face with frightening speed. "Ms Yancey, I suggest you hand that statement over immediately, and don't force us to get a warrant for it. Cooperation on your part will be the only way to save what credibility you still have."

"So you're flatly denying that this statement is true?" Yancey asked, and Bradshaw nodded.

"Yes, I am, and I can tell you why right here and now. Detective Goren was left paralysed by one of the bullets that Dylan Black shot him with. He is confined to a wheelchair, Ms Yancey. It would have been impossible for him to get up, let alone _run_ at Dylan Black."

Startled silence fell in the room, and Faith Yancey suddenly began to look more than a little uncomfortable. Before she could speak again, Bradshaw spoke first.

"And don't even think about suggesting that he's faking paralysis. Don't force me to bring his doctor in here."

"Well..." she stammered, "maybe he..."

"Shut up, Faith!" someone in the crowd yelled. "He's got you pinned. Give it up, would you?"

In a rare, but welcome display, Faith Yancey wheeled around and shoved her way through the crowd, exiting the room in the most dramatic fashion. Bradshaw watched her go with ill-concealed relief before looking back to the crowd.

"Now, maybe we can get back to business, ladies and gentlemen...?"

* * *

_tbc..._


	11. Coming To Terms

_Later that evening_

"…So then Bradshaw told her about the paralysis," Alex said as she relayed the details of the press conference back to Bobby. "Apparently he really gave her a serve. And then, one of the other reporters actually told her to shut up and deal with it! Captain said she went red and stormed out."

"Well… What about that statement?" Bobby wondered.

"Her producer handed it over after Chief Bradshaw himself confronted him. Captain said that the Chief thinks it's one of two possibilities," Alex said. "Either Dylan Black wrote it out and sent it to her yesterday, after he lost the police guard, or someone connected to Yancey put it together for her. Apparently Bradshaw said that if he finds out that it's the latter, and he can prove it, then he'll press charges against Yancey for fabricating evidence. But he also thinks that embarrassing her in front of her peers was a pretty good punishment, too. It sure shut her up. There was nothing at all on her show earlier about what happened."

Bobby sighed and shifted awkwardly in the bed.

"I didn't want Black to be killed but he just wasn't going to let it go. He was going to kill me…"

"Yes, he was," Alex murmured as she gently squeezed his hand. "And I'll always be grateful to the captain for not letting that happen." She snorted derisively. "I still can't believe Black tried to claim self defence."

"Can… Can we talk about something else, please?" Bobby asked softly. Alex blinked in surprise, and then nodded in acquiescence.

"Sure, Bobby. Did you have something in mind?"

"Just… Anything other than Black."

It was Alex's turn to sigh.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She paused, looking around his new room before commenting. "This isn't so bad. Better than what I'm stuck with, anyway."

"Same beds, though," Bobby remarked ruefully. Alex smiled.

"Maybe, but at least this room is a little less like a hospital room. Needs a bit more colour… Although, I bet Mom will have that well and truly covered. And hey! You even have a space here for some books!" Alex paused again as something caught her eye, and she looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"The first four Harry Potter books? Is that what Emily got you?"

Bobby gave a lopsided shrug, and a sheepish smile.

"I hadn't read any of them. She said no relative of hers was getting away with not reading them. Then she went out and bought those for me."

"And?" Alex pressed. The sheepish smile widened a little.

"I read the first one. It… It was good."

Alex laughed at that, unable to help it. She could just picture Bobby engrossed in a Harry Potter novel.

"You see? I told you that you'd enjoy them. Maybe next time you'll believe me."

"I did believe you," Bobby insisted. "I just… I never had time before now."

The poignancy of that statement was not lost on Alex, and she reached out to squeeze his hand gently.

"Try not to look at it as being the end of anything, Bobby. Look at it as a new beginning."

He stared at her with a misery that he simply could not hide.

"What use am I now, Alex? What can this possibly be a new beginning for?"

"Just be patient, please?" Alex pleaded with him. "Don't give up."

"I'm trying not to," he promised her. "But it's not easy. I don't know what to do anymore. I… I feel lost."

"You're not lost," she murmured, reaching out to lightly stroke his cheek and forehead. "Sooner or later, you'll realise that."

"Don't go," he whispered, tightening his grip on her hand. Alex squeezed back without hesitation.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Deakins walked into the bullpen two days later feeling very much like he just wanted to turn around and go straight home. Not that he was feeling particularly bad – far from it. He had just come from fronting IAB over killing Black, and it had proved to be a very interesting experience.

Captain Brian Crockett was gone, replaced by a younger, shrewd-looking man by the name of Graham Waylon. The new captain of IAB had listened carefully to Deakins before calmly stating that after hearing both his and Dr Fieldings' accounts, and examining the submitted reports, Captain Deakins had used justifiable force in stopping Black, and had no case to answer.

Deakins had walked out of IAB and back into the Major Case bullpen completely absolved of responsibility by both IAB and his own conscience.

"Captain?"

Deakins looked around to see Jackson approaching, looking vaguely bewildered.

"What is it, Jackson?" he asked, his gaze going automatically to the large envelopes that Jackson was holding.

"Sir, these were left for Goren. One of them was dropped off by Carver. Another two came by courier… and this one was delivered by a guy by the name of Jason Gideon."

Deakins did a double-take at that.

"Jason Gideon…? The FBI profiler?"

"That'd be the one," Jackson confirmed. "He said he'd appreciate it if you could pass this on to Goren directly, sir. He said he wanted to go to the hospital himself, but that he didn't want to seem like he was trying to bully Goren."

Shaking his head in wonderment, Deakins took the envelopes. He stared piercingly at them, as though he could see through the envelope to the contents within. When he finally looked back at Jackson, he could have sworn he saw a glint of amusement there in the other man's eyes.

"Are these…?"

"Job offers? Yes, sir. I think so."

"I'll be damned," Deakins murmured. "Right, I need to call Bradshaw. I think we're going to need to act fast if we're going to be able to keep Bobby within the NYPD."

"Sir…?" Jackson wondered in confusion.

"I asked Bradshaw to consider the merit of employing Bobby as a resident profiler," Deakins explained as he began to walk towards his office. "But if we don't get ourselves in gear, we might just lose him to another agency." He paused, eyeing the envelope that was clearly marked with the FBI seal. "I have to admit, it would be right up Bobby's alley to join the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit."

"You really think he'd join the Feds?" someone else asked nearby.

"For the opportunity to work with the likes of Jason Gideon?" Deakins retorted. "I'd be stunned if he didn't seriously consider it."

"Better get Eames on his case, then," someone remarked wryly. "If she says no, then he won't accept."

Deakins, however, shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "I won't do that to him. I don't want to lose Bobby, but if it's what he wants to do, then I won't try to stop him, either. This isn't just his career we're talking about. It's his life."

A sombre silence met Deakins' words, and then Jackson spoke softly.

"It really is for real, isn't it? He's not gonna walk again, is he?"

"Don't say that, Jackson," another squad member growled. "They haven't confirmed it yet. It might still turn out to be okay for him."

"No," Deakins said abruptly, with a harshness to his voice that he immediately regretted. When he spoke again, he took deliberate care not to snap. "No, don't go there, people. His doctor warned me not to expect miracles, and that's what it would be if it turns out that he will walk again."

"But Captain…"

"Don't," Deakins said hoarsely. "Please… Just don't. Bobby is finding it hard enough to come to terms with reality at the moment. The last thing he needs is for everyone around him to harbour false hopes. Don't expect a miracle. Don't even hope for one."

"What are you going to do, Captain?" Jackson asked in a dull voice. Deakins paused, taking a moment to compose himself.

"I'm going to call Bradshaw, so that I have an offer to put to Bobby when I hand him these."

* * *

Deakins was not the least bit surprised to arrive at the hospital to find everyone crowded into Bobby's room in the rehab wing. Alex, he noted, had not been wrong about her mother brightening up the room. Between her and Emily Goren, they had transformed an otherwise plain room into as bright an cheerful a place as anyone could hope to find within the walls of a hospital.

Colourful flowers adorned the room and helium balloons cotted the ceiling. The plain bed covers had been replaced with blankets brought from the Eames household, and Emily had taken it on herself to purchase a large quilt and new pillows.

There were books in every possible spare space and, lastly, an enormous basket sat on the little table in the corner filled with an assortment of fruit, chocolate and other delicacies. Fielding had expressed doubt over the basket of goodies, only to find himself confronted by a fierce Helen Eames who had all but dared him to try and take it away. Wisely, the doctor had back down, and Bobby had been allowed to keep the basket and its contents.

Thanks to the kindness and generosity of friends and family, Bobby was as comfortable in his new room as he could possibly hope to be.

"Jimmy, you've come to see our boy?" John Eames exclaimed loudly and cheerfully, and Deakins couldn't help but grin. Bobby, he noticed, was flushing red but the small smile on his face at John's choice of phrase was also genuine. He had been openly accepted into the Eames clan, and for once he was not resisting.

Not that that was surprising, either, the captain mused. What little emotional and mental strength that Bobby had was all but spent on struggling to simply get through each day. He needed all the support the Eames family were able to give him to avoid crashing and burning.

Deakins paused as he glanced around the room. Alex, her parents and wider family, and Emily and Sophie had all contributed to create a support base for Bobby that he probably had not imagined possible.

"Yes, I have," he agreed finally, walking over to the bedside.

"What is that?" Bobby wondered, his gaze drawn to the envelopes in the captain's hands. Deakins smiled wryly.

"Still as observant as ever. These are for you, Bobby. I think there's one from New York State University, one from Hudson University and one from Princeton... Ah... There's one here from the DA's office, one from the FBI, and one from the NYPD."

Bobby stared at Deakins blankly.

"But... what...?"

"They're job offers," Deakins explained. "You're being head-hunted, Bobby. Fiercely, by all accounts."

Still Bobby looked baffled as his attention turned to the envelopes.

"But... Why?"

"Bobby, if you say you don't know why they'd want to hire you, I swear I'll hit you," Alex growled. "Just because your legs don't work anymore doesn't mean your brain has stopped working, too. Now will you quit gaping like a damn guppy, and open them up!"

Verbally beaten into submission, Bobby opened the first of the envelopes – the one from the Commissioner's office, and began to read through the proposal. When he finally looked up again, he seemed more bewildered still.

"Squad profiler? No position like that exists."

"It will if you accept the offer," Deakins answered. "You'll retain your gold shield and your First Grade status. You'll be stationed in Major Case, but other squads will be able to call on your assistance when it's needed. And, as you can see, it's a substantial pay rise."

Bobby continued reading through it carefully before finally setting it aside and opening the FBI envelope.

"Bobby, do you know a Jason Gideon?" Deakins asked. He was loathed to bring it up in case Bobby actually showed interest in the FBI's offer, but he felt it was important that Bobby know just how highly sought after he really was.

"I know of him," Bobby murmured as he scanned the pages in his hands. "He's one of the best profilers in the country… if not the world." He paused, raising his eyes slowly to meet Deakins' gaze. "Why?"

"Because it was him who left that at Major Case for you," Deakins answered. Silence met that statement. When someone finally spoke, it was John Eames.

"You see, son? You see how valuable you are?"

Try as he might, Bobby could not stop the tears as his heart and mind were finally forced to accept the truth that everyone had been insisting on since the grim reality of his situation had become known. Anxious to comfort her uncle, Sophie abandoned the book she'd been reading quietly in a corner, and scrambled up onto the bed to hug him.

"Don't be sad," she murmured, kissing him on the cheek.

"Those aren't sad tears, sweetheart," Helen told her with a smile. "Those are definitely happy and relieved tears."

It was then, as Bobby hugged Sophie, that Deakins noticed something else.

"Your wrist is out of plaster!"

Bobby nodded, rubbing self-consciously at his eyes.

"It wasn't badly broken. Just a fracture. I just need physio to strengthen it so I can…"

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish that sentence. No one pushed the subject; they all knew what he had intended to say. He needed physio on his wrist to strengthen it, so that he would be able to adequately manoeuvre a wheelchair.

"Well, that's some more good news, then," Deakins said approvingly. "If you'll excuse me now, though, I have to get back to One Police Plaza. Bobby, if you don't mind, the others in the squad would like to come by and see you."

Bobby glanced fleetingly at Alex, a gesture that was lost on none of them, before nodding slowly.

"That'd be okay. I… I'd appreciate it."

"Okay, then. I'll send them by just a few at a time, so you're not drowned in detectives, okay?"

A small smile graced Bobby's features, sending a rush of warmth through Deakins. In that small, somewhat shy smile, the captain could see remnants of the man Bobby had been before a single bullet had turned his world upside down, and he could see a glimmer of the man that Bobby still was.

"Thankyou," Bobby murmured. "For… For everything, Captain." His fingertips brushed lightly over the envelope from the Commissioner's office. "I'm betting you had a lot to do with this."

Deakins paused at the door, and he grinned back at Bobby.

"Yes, I did, but so did John here. It was his idea. But regardless, you didn't honestly think that I was going to sit back and let the FBI steal one of my best detectives, did you?"

Then he was gone.

"Now do you believe us?" Alex asked as his attention returned to those around him. He didn't need to ask what she meant.

"I'm starting to," Bobby conceded. He picked up the FBI offer again, reading it through with care.

"What are they offering?" Emily wondered after a couple of minutes of silence.

"They want me to join their Behavioural Analysis Unit that's headed by Jason Gideon," he answered. "It… It's an impressive offer."

"Would you consider it?" Alex asked, struggling to keep her tone neutral. In truth, she had initially been thrilled for Bobby, until it quickly hit home that accepting such an offer would take him right away from New York and, subsequently, away from her. And all of a sudden, Alex felt the sickening clutch of fear deep in her heart and soul.

"I might," Bobby mused. "Except, it would mean leaving New York… and you. And… I don't think I'm ready to do that. Besides, this offer from the Commissioner looks pretty good, too. And I don't really want to leave the NYPD. I… I belong here."

Alex couldn't hide her relief, and nor did she even try.

"Yes, you do," she agreed, accepting the hand that he stretched out to her and holding on tightly.

* * *

Alex was released from the hospital the following day, into the care of her parents and once she had convinced her doctor that she could manage adequately with a crutch. She visited Bobby on the way out, promising to come back every day until he, too, was released. He got the same firm promise not only from John and Helen Eames, but also from her brothers and sister, and her uncles.

It was a fair flurry of activity and emotion until Alex was finally taken home by her parents, leaving Bobby with Emily. Sophie was with her father for the day, sight-seeing around the city.

"I thought," Bobby started to say, but faltered. Emily sat carefully on the edge of the bed, grasping his hand gently.

"You thought what?"

"You're a doctor," he pointed out tentatively. "Don't you… I mean…"

She thought she understood what he was trying to say.

"I'm officially on compassionate leave, Bobby. I put a call in to our Chief of Surgeons once we knew you'd been paralysed. I told him Frank and I needed to be here for you. He wasn't particularly happy with having to find a locum at such short notice, but he understood. And since I haven't had a vacation in six years, I have so much leave accrued that I could stay until Christmas. So no, I don't have to go rushing back to work."

Bobby went red.

"I wasn't trying to push you away," he stammered, and Emily laughed softly, leaning over on impulse to kiss his forehead.

"I know, hon. I know what you meant. I just wanted to be sure that you understand that we won't be running out on you anytime soon."

Bobby sighed, visibly relieved.

"Thankyou."

* * *

_A couple of weeks later_

"You're a natural in that thing, Bobby."

Bobby looked up ruefully at his physiotherapist, Matt Norton, after scoring in a game of one-on-one wheelchair basketball.

"It's amazing what you can achieve when you don't have a choice."

Matt smiled easily back at him.

"Got it in one, pal. We adapt to survive, and that's exactly what you're doing. Adapting."

Bobby grimaced, but didn't argue. Extracting himself from the wheelchair that he's been using, Matt put the ball away and then returned to his charge's side.

"How's the wrist holding out?"

Bobby gave a slight shrug.

"It's aching a little. Nothing worse than that."

"Let me see it."

Bobby held his arm out, and Matt began to gently massage his wrist and hand.

"It'll ache for a while, until it gets strong again. But trust me, it will happen. One day you're going to finish up a session with me, and realise it isn't aching at all."

"The pain doesn't bother me so much," Bobby said, although he couldn't hide his relief as Matt's careful massaging gradually eased the ache. "It's pretty minimal, really."

"You mean in comparison to what you've already been through," Matt said, and Bobby nodded in concession.

"Yes."

"Well, I guess I can understand that," Matt said, "but I'm not aiming to just make things tolerable for you. I want you to be feeling good, physically as well as emotionally."

Bobby hesitated, and then spoke tentatively.

"I just want the… the parts of my body that do still work, to work a hundred percent properly."

"That's why I'm working with you, Bobby. We're going to get your upper body into great shape, my friend. You'll be stronger and fitter than you ever were before, I guarantee it."

Bobby was silent for a long moment before speaking again in a subdued tone.

"They're going to scan my spine again tonight."

Matt sat back, regarding him thoughtfully.

"This is it, huh? You'll get the final answer tonight."

"Yeah," Bobby whispered. "Sink or swim."

"Hey," Matt growled, a slight edge to his voice. "There's no sinking here, pal. Whatever the results, you're going to swim. You hear me? You're not going to sink."

"I… I just… I can't help thinking that… maybe…"

A soft sigh escaped Matt as he correctly interrupted what Bobby couldn't quite bring himself to say.

"You still hope it's not permanent, don't you? Listen, Bobby…"

"Please don't," Bobby begged him. "Please don't say it. I… I know the chances that the nerves aren't severed are slim, but I need something to hope for."

"I understand that, Bobby. I really do. But the reality is that you're only going to hurt yourself by hanging on to a hope that just isn't realistic."

"But what if?" Bobby argued with a desperation that was heart-breaking. "What if they scan my spine, and the nerves aren't severed? Maybe… Maybe they're just really badly pinched…"

"Bobby, stop it," Matt said in a quiet but firm voice, effectively silencing his charge. "Just stop and think about it. What does your gut tell you?"

Distressed, Bobby looked away.

"I need to have something to… to hope for," he said again in a trembling voice.

"That's fair enough," Matte conceded. "But this is something that you really do have to be realistic about. You've already hit rock bottom once. I don't want to see you slip backwards again."

Self-consciously, Bobby rubbed at his stomach.

"I wouldn't do that again."

"Okay," Matt murmured. "So, you keep clinging to this hope that maybe the damage isn't irreparable after all. How are you going to cope if it turns out to be as bad as your doctor suspects?"

It wasn't lost on Bobby that Matt said 'if', and not 'when'. He paused, thinking it over carefully before answering.

"I… I'll probably cry," he admitted, his cheeks reddening a little. "Maybe I'll want to scream… but…"

Matt leaned forward a little.

"But what, Bobby?"

"But I won't have to face it alone," he said softly. "I have Alex… and her family… I have Emily and Sophie… The captain and the squad, and my friends… Fin, and Lewis… I'm not alone, unless I choose to be."

"And?" Matt prompted him. Bobby rubbed at his eyes, which were wet with new tears.

"And I don't choose to be alone."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Matt said with enthusiasm. "You'll find you'll get a lot further a lot quicker if you stick to that. Okay, we're done for today, but I'll see you tomorrow. And remember, whatever the result is tonight, we'll face it and keep trying. Right?"

Bobby nodded tiredly. All of a sudden, he was ready to back to his room and just sleep until Fielding came to get him for the scan.

"Right," he mumbled. Matt smiled and patted him gently on the shoulder.

"You're gonna be okay, Bobby. You'll see."

Bobby didn't respond to that statement as Matt took him back to his room because, as much as he wanted to believe it, he couldn't. Not yet.

* * *

He lay on the table as he was moved steadily into position in the MRI machine. Fielding had warned him that it could take up to an hour to complete, and had allowed Bobby to take a book with him as a means of keeping him awake and entertained. That entertainment, Fielding had been amused to note, had come in the form of the third Harry Potter novel. He said nothing, though, not wanting Bobby to think he was knocking his choice. After all, anything that kept Bobby at least partially distracted from the discomfort of the MRI was to be considered a blessing, and the last thing Fielding needed was for Bobby to fall into his usual habit of asking question upon question and getting more agitated by the second. 

Nearly an hour on, Fielding found himself looking at a monitor showing Bobby's spinal column and, specifically, the area where the fragmented bullet had done its damage.

"There," Dr Carla Jenkins murmured, manipulating the image so that the area of interest was magnified. "Swelling's all but gone. You can see it clearly."

Fielding nodded, his expression giving away nothing.

"Yes, I see it. Okay, let's get him out of there."

Jenkins went to find the orderlies, leaving Fielding there alone, staring at the frozen image. He watched wordlessly as Bobby was removed from the MRI with absolute care, and taken back to his room.

"You want me with you when you talk to him?" Jenkins asked as she rejoined him in the viewing room.

"No," Fielding murmured. "I'll do it."

"Are you going to wait until morning?"

Again, Fielding shook his head.

"No, I'll go and talk to him now." Jenkins raised an eyebrow, drawing a weary smile from Fielding. "Trust me, if it was anyone else, I'd make them wait. But Bobby isn't just anyone, and it wouldn't be fair to make him wait until morning for this. He'll be waiting for me to come and talk to him."

"Okay, then," Jenkins conceded. "If you're certain."

"I am," Fielding answered. Quietly, he collected the print-outs from the scan, and went to talk to his patient.

* * *

He hadn't been wrong in what he'd said to Jenkins. Bobby was indeed waiting for him when he walked in, with a look of hope on his pale face that made Fielding want to turn and run from the room. As he walked over to the bedside, though, he met Bobby's gaze and watched as that hope faded and blinked out into nothingness.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Fielding told him, even as tears started to fill the other man's eyes. "I was hoping that there might have been some small chance that we could repair the damage, but it just wasn't to be."

"The nerves are severed?" Bobby asked in a shaky whisper.

"I'm afraid so," Fielding confirmed. "There are only a few strands still intact. There's nothing we can do. I'm very sorry."

"I knew," Bobby said miserably. "I already knew, but I didn't want to face it. I kept hoping… Stupid… I was stupid…"

"There's nothing stupid about hoping."

Bobby said nothing, though, gradually becoming lost in his own misery. Fielding watched him for a long minute before speaking quietly.

"I'm going to call someone. Your sister in-law, perhaps…"

"No," Bobby said abruptly, hoarsely. "It's late. Don't… Don't bother anyone. I'll be okay."

Doubt clouded the doctor's features.

"Bobby, you really shouldn't be alone right now."

"I'll be okay," Bobby insisted, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "Please… I just need some time. That's all."

In the end, there was little Fielding could do. After ensuring his charge was as comfortable as possible, and relatively pain-free, he headed quietly from the room. He'd barely gone half a dozen steps when he heard the sound of sobbing coming from Bobby's room. Shaking his head unhappily, Fielding continued on towards the exit of the rehab wing, determined to contact someone to come and be there for Bobby, regardless of his protests.

He was almost to the exit door when it suddenly swung open, and Frank Goren walked in. For a good several seconds, the two men stood there staring at each other. Then, Fielding shook off his surprise and approached Frank slowly.

"Mr Goren. You are aware it's past visiting hours?"

Frank nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

"Yeah, I know, but Em took Sophie out to a movie… a girls' night out, I guess. I figured I'd come see Bobby."

Fielding couldn't suppress his suspicions. He'd heard about what had happened the last time that Frank had been alone with Bobby, and he did not want to see a repeat performance – especially tonight. Walking right up to Frank, until they were almost nose to nose, Fielding spoke in a low, threatening voice.

"You listen to me, and listen closely, sir. Your brother had a scan this evening that effectively destroyed any hopes he still had of ever walking again. His state of mind is not good. Now, if you do anything… _anything_ to make it worse for him…"

Frank held up his hands defensively.

"Whoa, Doc. Already had the riot act read to me by my wife. You don't need to say it. I already know she'll put my balls in a sling if I try any crap with Bobby."

"Mr Goren," Fielding growled, none too placated by the other man's words, "if you do anything at all to hurt your brother, you won't have to worry about what your wife will do to you, because I will personally feed you to his partner. Am I making myself clear?"

Frank blanched visibly, and then sighed.

"Okay, Doc. Look, I know I was an asshole to Bobby. I _am_ an asshole. I'm not denying that. But I'm not lying now when I say that I'm here for Bobby. I just want to see him, and try to be the big brother that he needs me to be. Are you gonna let me try?"

With some scepticism, Fielding stepped aside to let Frank past.

"Once chance, Mr Goren. That's all you get. Don't screw it up, because believe me, I'd have no problems with banning you from entering the hospital."

To his credit, Frank didn't scowl or sulk, but rather nodded in acceptance.

"Don't worry, Doc. I have no intention of giving you a reason to do that."

Fielding watched as Frank walked past, his eyes boring holes into the man's back.

"I hope not."

* * *

Bobby couldn't stop the tears. Try as he might, there was no closing the floodgates once they'd opened, and in the end all he could do was just lie there and cry. He thought he'd been prepared for the worst news, but only now did he finally understand what Matt had been trying to tell him.

He _had_ set himself up for a bad fall by hoping for something that, deep down, he had known was impossible. It hurt, badly, and he wished desperately that he had told someone… anyone… about the scan so that he wouldn't have been alone.

Too late now, he thought miserably. He was alone, and there was not a thing he could do about it. To call someone now, at this late hour, would only compound his misery by adding a healthy dose of guilt, and that was something he really didn't need.

Movement in the doorway distracted him, and he looked up to see someone standing there, someone whose identity was blurred by his tears. The figure stood there for a long moment before walking in and over to the bedside.

"Hey, Bobby."

In his state of distress, Bobby was not inclined to push any company away – even the brother who had treated him so shabbily. Shuddering, he looked up at Frank through eyes that were already swollen from shed tears.

"Ah, jeez," Frank murmured. "C'mere, kid…"

And a moment later, Bobby found himself wrapped securely in the embrace of his brother.

"I'm not gonna tell you it'll be okay," Frank said as he held his sobbing brother. "I know none of it's okay. But I promise you right now that I'll be here for you. I promise you that."

Slowly, Bobby withdrew to stare cynically at Frank.

"I don't know if I can afford your rates."

Frank grimaced, and had to make a conscious effort to put a dampener on his anger.

"Okay, I deserved that. I'm serious, though, Bobby. I'm here for you, bud, no strings attached."

Bobby settled back against the pillows, rubbing a hand self-consciously over his eyes.

"I want to believe you, but… I… I just don't know."

Reaching out, Frank tentatively closed his hand over Bobby's shoulder.

"Well, hopefully before long you will."

Silence fell – not quite comfortable, but not exactly awkward, either. Finally, Frank opened his mouth to speak, but Bobby beat him to the punch.

"If you ask me how I'm feeling, I swear to God I'll call for a nurse and get them to throw your ass out of here."

To his credit, Frank chuckled softly and shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'm not that much of an idiot. Actually, I was going to ask, have you tried calling Mom yet?"

Bobby fell abruptly quiet. Though there was no accusation in Frank's tone, he still felt cornered by the unexpected question.

"You've been to see her," he said finally, defensively. "What has she said?"

Frank didn't answer, and Bobby felt his stomach drop unpleasantly.

"She… hasn't asked about me at all, has she?"

The discomfort on Frank's face spoke in volumes, and Bobby looked away in a pointless effort to hide the hurt.

"Bobby," Frank started to say, but Bobby spoke in a low mutter that was laden with grief.

"Shouldn't be surprised. You always were her golden boy. I only ever came second in her eyes."

Frank felt a touch of defensive anger that he could not suppress.

"C'mon, Bobby, give me a break! I never asked for that sort of attention from Mom or Dad! It's not my fault that you got pushed into the background like that. You know I would have changed it if I could have."

Even though his bitter grief, Bobby had to concede to Frank's words. It _wasn't_ his brother's fault, and it was pointless to be throwing around blame now.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It just… It…"

"It hurts," Frank finished off for him. "I know, Bobby. I know it does." He hesitated, trying to decide how best to tell Bobby how his last visit with their mother had really gone. "Look, Bobby, I tried to tell her about what happened to you. I did, but…" He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly wishing he hadn't started down this line.

"But what?" Bobby asked hoarsely. "But she didn't want to know, right? What did she say, Frank?"

"She… um… Look, it doesn't mean anything. You know that."

"Just tell me," Bobby whispered, already anticipating what was coming. Frank sighed and finally gave in.

"I tried to tell her why you hadn't been to see her, and why you hadn't called her, but she wouldn't listen to me. She said she wasn't interested in excuses, and that if you couldn't be bothered, then neither could she." He was careful not to add the part where Frances had praised him for being a 'good, dutiful son' while condemning Bobby for being cruel and inconsiderate and just like their father. That was something that Frank never wanted Bobby to hear.

A shudder swept through Bobby, followed by a choked sob.

"I'm sorry," Frank whispered, hugging Bobby to him once more. "Damn it, I wish I could change the way she thinks. It's not right. You're the one who's looked after her all this time. You're the one who called her every goddamn day, visited her regularly… and she treats you like dirt. It isn't right, Bobby."

"It's always been like that," Bobby said miserably, and this time he made no attempt to withdraw from his brother's embrace. "No matter what I did, it was always about you. Why couldn't I be more like you? Why didn't I study science like you? You wouldn't have put her away in a home…"

Frank snorted.

"Yeah, I got that one from her. She didn't like it when I told her you'd done what was best for her, and to quit complaining. She didn't like that at all."

"Tell me something," Bobby whispered, "and be honest."

"What is it?"

"How long are you planning on hanging around for?"

Frank paused in answering, and when he did there was a sincerity in his tone that Bobby could not ignore.

"As long as you need me to."

Bobby looked upwards at Frank, feeling a fresh twinge of hope deep within him.

"Straight up?"

"Yeah," Frank murmured. "Straight up, bud."

"Because… I don't know if I could take anymore…"

His words were silenced by a fierce hug.

"I'm not lying to you, Bobby," Frank insisted. "I'm sorry for before. I really am. I was being a selfish bastard, and I had no right to do that to you."

"So… if you're not getting the money from me or Mom…"

"Emily paid what I owe," Frank admitted, his face heating up. "She laid down three conditions. First, I apologise to you. Second, I get help and quit gambling for good. Third, I get a job and pay her back. I've already made good on one and a half of those promises."

"You're getting help?"

"Yeah. I contacted a Gamblers Anonymous program a couple of days ago. I've already been to my first meeting."

"That's good," Bobby mumbled. "I'm glad."

Frank peered down at Bobby. His brother was almost asleep.

"Yeah, well, when it comes down to it, my family is more important than trying to make a quick buck. I'm just sorry it took me so long to figure it out."

A soft sigh escaped Bobby.

"At least you figured it out. You're one up on Dad. He… He never did…"

Frank smoothed back Bobby's damp curls and took the liberty of running a cool, damp cloth over his brother's overly-warm skin.

"Go to sleep, Bobby. I'll be here when you wake up in the morning. I promise."

Another sigh escaped Bobby's lips, and a moment later he fell asleep in his brother's protective embrace.

* * *

Jimmy Deakins arrived at the hospital the next morning, deciding to stop and visit Bobby for a while before heading on to One Police Plaza. He wasn't particularly surprised to meet Emily and Sophie Goren, who were also on their way in, but he was surprised at the visible fury that was radiating from Emily.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, not entirely sure that he wanted to know.

"My husband," Emily seethed. "I took Sophie to see a movie last night. Frank opted not to go with us, and when we got back to the hotel, he wasn't there. He hasn't been back all night. The son of a bitch, I'll skin him alive!"

"Mrs Goren, please," Deakins pleaded with her, thinking ruefully that if it turned out that anything untoward had happened to Frank Goren, he would be legally obliged to target her as a suspect. Emily sighed heavily.

"I know, I'm digging my own grave if it turns out something's happened to him."

"But you don't think it has," he concluded.

"No. I know exactly what's going on."

"The 'G' word," Sophie whispered conspiratorially to him. Deakins sighed inwardly. Gambling…

"I'm sorry, Mrs Goren."

She snorted angrily.

"Not as sorry as Frank will be when I catch up to him. And please, stop calling me Mrs Goren. It's just Emily."

"Only if you call me Jimmy."

"Deal," Emily agreed. "Oh, Dr Fielding…"

Fielding had seen them coming, and had hurried to intercept them.

"Can I talk to you all before you go up to see Bobby?"

"Of course," Emily conceded. "Sophie, too?"

"Yes, Sophie, too. She's been an integral part of Bobby's support base, and she needs to know this as much as the both of you."

They went into a private room, and only then did Fielding speak.

"We ran a scan… and MRI… on Bobby's spine last night. The swelling has finally gone down, and we were able to see how extensive the damage really is."

"And?" Emily pressed anxiously, but Deakins already saw the truth in Fielding's eyes.

"There's no chance of him ever walking again, is there?" he asked softly, and Fielding shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. There was no mistaking the level of damage that had been done."

"Wait a second," Emily said with a dark frown. "You ran the scan last night? And no one told us? Any of us? Bobby has been alone all this time?"

"It was his choice…" Fielding started to point out, only to be cut off by a very angry Major Case captain.

"Damn it, he's only just recently come off a suicide watch! How could you leave him alone after giving him news like that?"

"He hasn't been alone," Fielding interrupted firmly. His words were met with surprised silence.

"Well, then, who…?" Emily wondered.

"Your husband, Mrs Goren."

Emily's jaw dropped.

"Frank? Frank is _here_?"

"Yes, Ma'am. He's been here the whole night. I don't know what you said to him after the last… incident, but I'll be the first to thank you for it. I spoke to the night shift nurses not long ago, and they told me that they heard Bobby scream out a number of times through the night, but each time they went to see to him, Frank had already calmed him back down and gotten him to go back to sleep. In fact, I just came from seeing Bobby, and I think it's safe to say they are well on the way to reconciling." He paused, taking in Emily's incredulous expression. "You really didn't expect to find him here, did you?"

"To be honest, Doctor? No, I didn't. But I have to admit, I've never been so happy to be so wrong."

"Can we go and see him now?" Deakins asked, anxious to see with his own eyes how Bobby was doing.

"Of course. Just one more moment, though. Sophie…?"

Sophie looked up at the doctor with large brown eyes.

"Yes?"

"Sophie, honey, I need to know that you understand what I just told your mother and Captain Deakins about your uncle."

"I understand," Sophie answered in a sober voice that belied her young age. "Uncle Bobby can't walk anymore. He's gonna need a wheelchair."

"That's right," Fielding confirmed. "Can we rely on you to help him now?"

"If he'll let me," Sophie answered softly and, above her head, Deakins and Emily exchanged glances. Sophie didn't know it, but she had just nailed it in one succinct line. They would all be there to help Bobby… but they could only do so if he let them.

* * *

Bobby was awake when they walked in, sitting up in bed and reading a newspaper with Frank. Both men were smiling, and Bobby laughed aloud at something Frank said just as they walked in.

"Daddy!" Sophie burst out, and ran to her father's open arms.

"Hey, pumpkin," Frank murmured, cuddling Sophie close for a long minute before passing her carefully across to Bobby to hug in greeting. He looked to Emily, smiling tiredly. "Hey, Em. Listen, I'm sorry about last night. When I came here, I didn't expect to be here all night, but Bobby needed me. I know, I should've left a note or something…"

Emily strode over and silenced him with a long kiss, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace.

"It's okay. It's really, _really_ okay, Frank. I am so proud of you."

Smiling faintly at the couple, Deakins walked over to Bobby's bedside.

"I won't ask how you're feeling," he assured him quietly. Bobby regarded him sombrely, his smile rapidly fading.

"You spoke to Dr Fielding?"

"Yes. He stopped us on our way in here. I'm sorry, Bobby. I really am."

"So am I," Bobby murmured, eyes downcast. "It… It hit hard, because I was still… I mean, I hoped…"

"I know," Deakins said. "I did, too. Tell me, though. Why didn't you tell someone you were having that scan last night?"

"I don't really know," Bobby admitted. "Maybe… Maybe I thought I'd be jinxing myself or something."

"You've never been superstitious before," Deakins retorted sceptically. Bobby gave a lopsided shrug.

"Well, it didn't work anyway, did it?"

"You idiot, Bobby," Deakins murmured with no rancour, and much affection. "You should have told someone. You know Alex is going to have your hide?"

Bobby grimaced.

"Don't I know it. But… Frank was here with me. I don't think I would have gotten through the night if it hadn't been for him."

Deakins looked over at Frank, and spoke with soft sincerity.

"Thankyou."

Looking more than a little embarrassed, Frank shrugged in response.

"He's my little brother, and I owe him the support. I know I was an ass, but I'm trying to make up for it."

"Well, don't worry," Bobby told him with genuine gratitude. "You made up for a lot with last night. I don't think I would have gotten through it without you."

"Yeah, you would've," Frank murmured. "But if I made it easier for you, then that's good."

Deakins smiled and was about to excuse himself when he noticed the envelopes he'd given Bobby with the job offers were all open, and the contents piled carefully on the side table.

"You've looks through these?" he asked, suddenly having to make an effort to control his nerves. Bobby nodded.

"Yes. I'm not interested in the offers from the university. I… I'm no professor. The FBI offer was a good one, but I'd have to leave New York… move to DC. I'm not sure that I'm ready to do that." He offered Deakins a half-smile. "So don't worry. I don't think I'm gonna be a Fed."

Deakins uttered a nervous laugh, slightly embarrassed at being caught out.

"Was it that obvious?"

"A little," Bobby admitted with a small grin. "I'd like to work with Gideon some time, but I don't think I really want to join the FBI."

"So have you come to a decision?" Deakins wondered, all the while trying hard not to sound pushy.

"Well, keeping in mind that I got another offer…"

"Oh? From where?"

"CSU."

Deakins' eyebrows went up in surprise. "CSU? As in the NYPD's CSU?"

Bobby nodded.

"Mack Taylor brought it in himself. He… He said he was willing to do whatever he had to in order to accommodate me."

A wry smile slowly formed on the captain's face.

"Oh, really."

"Yeah. And… the salary is good. Really good."

"What are you trying to do, Bobby, start a bidding war?" Emily said with a laugh, and Bobby smiled a tad sheepishly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I just… I mean, it's kind of nice to know I'm still wanted. Anyway, I don't want to go to CSU. I already told him that."

"What did Taylor say?" Deakins asked.

"He said the offer was an open one. If I ever change my mind, just let him know. Anyway, the truth is I'm torn between your offer, Captain, and the one from the DA's office. It would be something different, to work as an investigator for the DA… but I don't want to leave Major Case. I know I have to choose one, but I don't want to regret whichever way I decide, and it's a tough choice."

"You'd really consider working for the DA?" Deakins asked, not quite able to keep the incredulity out of his voice. Bobby couldn't suppress a smile at the tone.

"Is it that hard to imagine?"

"You playing by the rules for the likes of Arthur Branch?" Deakins retorted. "Yes, actually. It is a little hard to picture."

"I'm sure he's not that bad," Emily said with a light frown, jumping to her brother in-law's defence.

"Okay," Deakins said, with a brief glance in Bobby's direction to ensure that he wasn't overstepping the mark. "Let me tell you about some of the stunts that he's pulled that had our ADA pulling his hair out when cases went to trial."

"I suddenly feel like I should be leaving the room," Bobby remarked dryly. Frank, though, chuckled.

"No, this ought to be good, if it's any sort of reflection on what he used to pull when we were kids. Go ahead, Captain."

"Let me see…" Deakins mused. "Oh, yes, the little girl with ALS who didn't exist. Bobby and Alex were investigating a murder where it seemed the victim had a girlfriend on the sly. But when they looked into it deeper, it turned out he'd been giving financial support to a child with ALS. You might have heard of her. Erica Windemere, wasn't it, Bobby?"

"That's right," Bobby confirmed.

"I read her book," Emily said, pulling a face. "I was actually considering donating something when she just seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth. There were rumours that it was all just a con."

"It was a con," Bobby said. "A very well-planned and executed con. The people who thought they were talking to Erica over the phone were really only talking to Barbara Windemere. She was very adept at changing her voice to sound like a child."

"And Bobby figured it out?" Frank asked with a knowing grin.

"Yes," Deakins answered, "but it's how he did it that's the kicker, and really curled the ears of the jury when the defence lawyer at the trial demanded to know how he knew Erica was just a fabrication. We were in my office when a called came through from Erica, asking for Alex. We talked to her, and then Bobby asked her a question about the ALS, and then he asked her how it had affected her menstrual cycle."

Emily gaped at Bobby.

"You asked a little girl about _that_? Good Lord, Bobby…"

Bobby shrugged, unconcerned.

"Firstly, there was no little girl. Secondly, it was a legitimate question. She should have been able to answer it, but she couldn't. There were other things that made me suspicious, but that was the real tip-off."

"There was another time where he and Alex discovered that one of our ADA's colleagues had set up an elaborate plan to frame his wife for his own attempted murder, just because he was jealous that she'd achieved more than him. Except, they kept Carver in the dark about what they were doing when they set up a trap for the guy."

Bobby grunted.

"I remember that. Mr Carver was furious with us. Thought we'd made a fool of him."

"You have no idea how furious he really was over that," Deakins told him. "He bypassed me that time, and went straight to the Chief of Detectives. The only things that saved you and Alex from getting kicked back to traffic duty were your records and solve rate, and the fact that I jumped in and told the Chief that I'd approved the tactics."

"That would explain why Carver was so pissed off at you the next time he came to the squad room."

Deakins laughed.

"Exactly."

"Sounds just like Bobby," Frank laughed. "Getting the big bosses all in a fluster."

"That's not all, either," Deakins said. "There was a case where we knew a judge had solicited a murder, and in order to catch him out we arrested another judge. He once danced with a suspect in the interrogation room… A _male_ suspect. He nearly took the kneecaps off one man with a lead pipe…"

"Oh my god, Bobby," Emily gasped, and Bobby frowned.

"The guy was a Jew killer. It was the method he'd used to disable his victims. He went for a piece of pipe when I confronted him, and I grabbed it off him. I wouldn't have really hit him with it…"

"But the defence lawyer had a field day with him over it in court," Deakins threw in wryly. "I think that would have to be one of the few times when a lawyer got the better of you, Bobby. Carver had a hell of a time convincing the jury that you didn't terrorise him into confessing. But of all that… I think the real topper was when he convinced Alex to let a suspect hit on her in the interrogation room, in front of the guy's wife."

"Oh, you didn't," Emily laughed. "The poor thing!"

"Poor thing my ass," Bobby grumbled. "She held me to ransom over that one for three weeks. Cost me a fortune in margaritas."

"You weren't complaining," Deakins chided him. "She did a damned good job."

"Hey, I tried to tell her that!" Bobby protested. "She just hit me, and believe me, she packs a hell of a punch."

"She has two brothers," Deakins said. "That goes without saying." A wry smile touch his lips as another thought occurred to him. "You know, it'll probably give Ron Carver a stroke if you decide to take the position with the DA's office."

"I was thinking the same thing," Bobby admitted. "I know I've given him a lot of grief over the last few years. He might not be so thrilled to have me working alongside of him. None of the ADAs might be, knowing what Carver has probably told them about me."

Deakins smirked at that, and patted Bobby's shoulder reassuringly.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Bobby. For every time you've put him in a difficult spot, you saved his career an equal number of times. He may not always approve of your methods, but he respects you all the same."

"Even after the Tagman case?" Bobby wondered soberly, and Deakins nodded sincerely.

"Yes, even then. He'd be honoured to continue to work with you, just the same as the rest of us. Although, I have to admit that I'm hoping furiously that you'll accept the Commissioner's offer. I really don't want to lose you from the squad."

Bobby stared at Deakins thoughtfully.

"If I take the Commissioner's offer, I'll be strictly inactive duty. I'll be riding a desk, all the time."

It was not a question, and Deakins suddenly felt intensely uncomfortable.

"Yes…"

"But I'll get to continue profiling."

"That's right."

"Whereas there won't be as much opportunity to do any profiling for the DA's office, but I'll have the freedom to go out on the streets and interview people."

And then Deakins realised what Bobby was hinting at. The resident profiler position appealed to him, but he needed the freedom to go beyond the office walls, and interact with other people. He wondered, then, whether it might be possible to come to some sort of compromise. More to the point, he wondered just how badly Arthur Branch wanted Bobby on his team.

"Let me talk to the Commissioner before you make any decisions, okay? We'll see what we can come up with for you."

Bobby hesitated, then. There was more that he wanted to ask Deakins, but he didn't particularly want to talk about it in front of Sophie or her parents. Emily, who had been watching Bobby closely, suddenly spoke.

"C'mon, Sophie. Frank. Let's go get some breakfast."

Frank, who had also caught on, looked back to his brother.

"We'll bring something back for you. What do you want?"

Bobby shook his head.

"No, I'm not really hungry…"

"That wasn't a question, Bobby," Frank cut him off. "You need to eat. Now, what do you want us to bring back for you?"

Finding that he just didn't have it in him to argue with them, Bobby conceded with a sigh.

"A plain bagel with a little cream cheese?"

"One plain bagel with cream cheese it is," Emily agreed. "You want some coffee, too, hon?"

"No, thanks," Bobby murmured, deciding his stomach wasn't quite ready to deal with caffeine, after the difficult night he'd had. "Some juice would be good, though."

"How about some pear juice, if we can find any?" Emily asked. "That shouldn't be too sweet, or too acidic for you."

"That'd be good," Bobby agreed. "Thankyou."

Once they were gone, Deakins turned his attention back to Bobby.

"Now, what is it that you didn't want to say in front of them?"

"Alex," Bobby said tentatively. "She'll eventually go back to work for Major Case… She'll eventually be back on active duty."

"Yes," Deakins conceded. "She will. But you'll be coming back to work too… if you decide to accept the Commissioner's offer. And remember, just because things are going to be different doesn't mean you're worse off."

"I know," Bobby agreed. "That… That's not what I meant. I want to stay with the NYPD, and with Major Case. I really do…"

"But?" Deakins prompted him quietly when he hesitated.

"Well, I've been thinking about it… Maybe a little too much, but I can't stop thinking how much I'd eventually start to resent Alex."

Deakins started, shocked by the confession.

"Resent her? Why? Bobby, you aren't blaming her, are you?"

"No!" Bobby burst out. "No, it's not that. What I'm trying to say is… Look, say I come back to Major Case. Back to a desk job. Alex will be someone else's partner. How many times will I be able to watch her leave to go to a crime scene… to interview a witness… to arrest a suspect… before I start resenting that she can still do that, and I can't? How long before I start resenting watching her working with someone else?"

"I understand," Deakins murmured, feeling his heart sink as he realised the truth in Bobby's words.

"I just don't want to end up being angry at Alex over something that isn't her fault," Bobby insisted. "I… I don't know what to do, Captain. I'm starting to think that maybe I should seriously look at taking the offer to join the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit."

"Bobby…"

"I don't want to leave New York, but maybe it'd just be for the best if I did."

"Bobby, wait," Deakins burst out, with perhaps a shade more panic in his voice than he would have liked. "Listen to me. I don't want you to make any decisions until I speak to the Commissioner. All right? Will you promise me that you'll wait until then?"

Slowly, Bobby nodded, although the sceptical look on his face suggested that he didn't really believe it would change anything.

"Okay," he conceded. "I'll wait."

Deakins didn't even try to suppress a sigh of relief.

"Good. Thankyou."

"I just want to do the right thing," Bobby said tentatively. "Make the right decision."

"How about we settle for you making the right decision for _you_?" Deakins asked. "You know I'll support whatever choice you make, but I want you to be happy with what you decide. That isn't going to happen if you base your choice on other people's considerations. You have to think of yourself now, Bobby. For once in your life, put yourself first."

Bobby sighed and sank back into the pillows.

"Easier said than done."

"It doesn't have to be. Not if you trust us to support you. Do you think you can do that?"

Bobby didn't answer that immediately. What the captain was asking of him was a foreign concept. He had never trusted easily, and never so many people as Deakins was asking him to trust now. He wanted to comply, but he wasn't sure if he could.

"Do you trust me, Bobby?" Deakins asked quietly, drawing a startled look from the younger man.

"Yes," Bobby answered, without any hesitation. "I… I've always trusted you."

"Then trust me now."

For the longest while, the two men simply stared at each other. Bobby's gaze was searching, while Deakins did his best to hold that gaze unflinchingly. Finally, Bobby relaxed and conceded with a quick nod.

"Okay."

* * *

That afternoon, Deakins found himself in the Commissioner's office, discussing Bobby's situation.

"He doesn't want to be confined to a desk?" the Commissioner echoed, eyebrows raised. "Jim, the man's been crippled. What does he expect?"

"Sir, I can understand where Goren is coming from," Deakins argued. "He appreciates the offer we've made, and he wants to stay with the NYPD, but the straight truth is that being tied to a desk would kill him just as sure as another bullet would have. We're going to have to find some sort of compromise, or we're going to lose him – either to the DA's office, or to the FBI. And believe me, the FBI have presented him with a very lucrative offer – one that doesn't keep him tied to a desk."

The Commissioner sat back slowly, eyeing Deakins curiously.

"You really don't want to lose him, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't," Deakins answered tersely. "Damn it, you know how brilliant he is! The NYPD may never find another profiler like Bobby Goren, and you're willing to risk losing him to the goddamn Feds!"

The Commissioner smiled wryly, quietly impressed with Deakins' vehemence.

"Well, Jim, what do you suggest we do about this? You know we can't offer him active status."

"He doesn't care about that. He just wants the chance to get out on the streets. He doesn't need active status to have the authority to talk to witnesses and view crime scenes."

"Let me think about this, and I'll get back to you."

"All right," Deakins agreed. "Just don't think on it for too long. I managed to put Goren off making a decision for now, but I can't hold him back indefinitely."

The Commissioner nodded passively.

"Okay, Jim. Trust me, we'll work something out. I don't want to lose him from the NYPD, either. Especially not to the goddamn Feds."

Nodding, Deakins got up and let himself out. The Commissioner waited until he'd gone before picking up his phone and speaking to his assistant.

"Nat, get me Arthur Branch the DA's office. Tell him I want to talk to him about Robert Goren."

* * *

_tbc..._


	12. Visitations

_That evening_

Bobby sat in the wheelchair by the window of his room, flipping idly through a newspaper, and flexing his wrist carefully in accordance with the exercises that Matt had set for him. Right at that moment he was alone, but unlike the previous evening, he wasn't bothered by it. After a day filled with visitors, he welcome the brief respite.

Alex had eventually gone home with her parents, after he was finally able to convince her that he was okay. Frank, Emily and Sophie had gone off for dinner, after promising firstly to come back, and secondly to bring something back for him. It was an unfortunate fact that the meals served in the rehab wing were no better than any other part of the hospital, and so friends and family had taken to bringing food in for him.

He wasn't going to refuse the offers. Anything that made his stay more bearable was welcome in his opinion. All in all, he could feel himself slowly coming to grips with what had happened to him, and he was increasingly surprised that the future wasn't quite as bleak as he'd first supposed.

Matt had told him that he was adjusting, and he supposed that was true, even though the idea of adjusting to life in a wheelchair still seemed impossible to him. Here he was, though – sitting in a wheelchair that he was steadily learning to manoeuvre, and no longer suffering panic attacks over it.

He knew without having to be told that that was an achievement in itself.

His earlier conversation with Matt had been an interesting one. The physiotherapist had a lot to offer him in terms of practical advice, and Bobby had quickly come to trust him. The man put up no pretences, he didn't try to purport to know more than he really did, and he was honest. That was something that Bobby valued right then above and beyond all else.

After talking about the scan, and the impact of the unhappy result, Matt had gone on to ask him about his goals. It was not a new question. Matt had asked him the same question during their first physio session. Then, his answer had been to do everything he could to get back to a normal life. This time, his somewhat subdued response had been in the form of a prayer; one that he had learnt at the tender age of seven.

The new goal he had set for himself was to be able to change what he could, accept what he couldn't and have the wisdom to know the difference. The smile on Matt's face had warmed him right through.

"That's good, Bobby," he'd said. "That's really good. Now we can really get to work, and teach you to start living again."

It turned out that Matt was also a qualified occupational therapist, and that was just the kind of response he had been waiting for in order to kick-start the next phase of Bobby's rehabilitation. He was, Matt had said, one step closer to going home.

The thought had filled Bobby with a combination of elation and dread. He'd been elated at the prospect of an end to this long stay in the hospital, but the dread he felt was at the sickening realisation that he had nowhere to go upon being discharged.

Here was an issue that he had yet to face up to. His apartment was no long suitable for him. Even with the installation of ramps for the few steps that existed, there was still the issue of the benches and cupboards now being out of his reach, and there was no way he could afford to have the entire apartment remodelled to suit his needs. At the same time, though, he felt nauseous at the thought of having to look for a new place to live. His apartment was rent-controlled, and he knew his chances of finding another place that was both affordable and wheelchair-accessible were slim at best.

Once more, he found his thoughts turning back to the job offer from the FBI. That was another incentive that the FBI had offered. A house – not an apartment, but an actual house – completely furnished and wheelchair-accessible, and at an affordable, subsidised rent.

No matter what Deakins negotiated for him with the Commissioner, that was one benefit that he knew the NYPD could never offer him. Nor did he expect it, but it definitely gave him a damned good reason to stop and think twice about knocking the FBI back.

He heard footsteps outside, and looked up just in time to see a man come to a halt in the doorway of his room. It was someone that he knew well enough, despite never having met him before.

"Agent Gideon," he said quietly. "My captain told me that you were in New York. I didn't know whether to believe him."

Jason Gideon walked over to Bobby, and the two men shook hands in greeting.

"Detective Goren, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm just sorry that it had to be under these circumstances."

Bobby motioned to the chair opposite him.

"Sit, please. That is, if you have time."

Gideon sat without hesitation.

"You look as though you're doing well, if you don't mind me saying so."

Bobby glanced ruefully down at his legs.

"I'm… adjusting. It's slow going."

"I don't doubt it," Gideon agreed. "You're a smart guy, though, and you're strong-willed. You were always going to be all right."

A wry smile touched Bobby's lips at the certainty in Gideon's voice.

"You profiled me?"

"Yes," Gideon admitted shamelessly. "Some time ago, as a matter of fact. You've been on our radar ever since a top undercover agent underestimated the intelligence and ability of a certain Major Case detective."

"John Hampton," Bobby murmured, and Gideon nodded in confirmation.

"That's the one. You and your partner did some fine work solving that case, Detective Goren."

Inwardly, Bobby knew that Gideon was playing to the part of his profile that said he didn't easily accept praise, but he didn't care. Gideon had pushed the right buttons by giving equal credit to Alex. Instinct told him it was not an idle comment, either. He suspected that here was a man who did not dismiss a person's abilities and capabilities purely on the basis of gender.

"I would have thought the FBI would want to keep me at arm's length," he remarked, shifting the subject. "I mean, I know I pissed a few of them off."

Gideon smiled at that.

"The FBI doesn't like bad apples, Detective, and Hampton went very bad. It might not have seemed like it at the time, but the powers that be were very grateful to you for exposing him."

Bobby looked away, and his gaze fell on the pile of job offers on the side table. The FBI offer sat on the top.

"I suppose you want my answer."

"Actually, no," Gideon told him. "You're welcome to take as much time as you need to make up your mind. The truth is, Robert… Do you mind me calling you Robert?"

"Actually, I'd prefer Bobby."

He offered no explanation for the preference, and Gideon didn't ask for one.

"Okay then, Bobby. The truth is, I just wanted the chance to meet you face to face. You have a hell of a reputation in profiling circles. I've made a point of studying your techniques."

Bobby couldn't quite conceal his surprise, or his pleasure.

"I've studied yours too, Agent…"

"Please, it's just Jason."

Bobby fell quiet for a long moment, and Gideon was just about to speak again when Bobby beat him to the punch.

"I already have. Made my decision, I mean. I… I won't be accepting your offer."

Much to Bobby's interest, Gideon didn't appear to be surprised. Rather, he smiled placidly and nodded.

"You already knew that, though, didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Gideon confessed. "It's not in your nature to conform to a bureaucracy like the FBI. You enjoy the freedom too much that the NYPD affords you."

"Well… Then why offer me a position?"

Gideon gave a small shrug.

"Because I wanted to throw the door open for you. I hope we'll have the opportunity to work together in the future, Bobby. I'd like you to keep an open mind about the FBI calling on you for assistance in future cases."

Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"You mean consulting?"

"In a manner of speaking. You wouldn't be contracted to the FBI. It would be more of a courtesy, but you'd be paid well for it. It's more a means of keeping that door open. Would you keep it in mind as a possibility?"

Bobby found himself nodded before he quite realised it.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I'll do that. Thankyou."

"And if you ever do change your mind about the job," Gideon told him with a smile, "there'll be a place in the unit for you. Just let me know."

Bobby nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak.

"Have you decided what you want to do?" Gideon wondered. Bobby considered his answer for a long while before responding.

"I want to stay with the NYPD, but… it depends. There are issues, and I don't know if the NYPD will be willing to make compromises."

"Let me guess," Gideon mused. "You don't want to be tied to a desk."

"If I'm stuck behind a desk, I might as well be dead," Bobby said flatly, and Gideon nodded in understanding.

"Like I said, if it doesn't work out for you at this end, keep us in mind. You'd be a fantastic addition to the team."

Bobby couldn't help smiling.

"Two profilers in one team?"

"You'd make six," Gideon told him. "We're a team, and we all have our own methods for profiling. Your skills would be hugely appreciated, and I guarantee you'd never be tied to a desk."

"You're not making this easy for me," Bobby said ruefully, and the FBI profiler chuckled.

"Well, that's because I want you on my team," he said unapologetically. "I'm hoping that I'll be able to change your mind."

"Even with my issues with authority?"

"We don't always get results by going strictly by the book," Gideon pointed out. "I know what your reputation is, Bobby. You'd fit in well with our team."

Bobby had to smile as a comment about him from the past sprung to mind.

"If you know my reputation, then you'd know I don't play well with others."

"No," Gideon argued. "I think it's truer to say that they don't play well with you. You deserve to be in an environment where people are willing to work with you, and not around you."

A soft laugh escaped Bobby's lips.

"I really didn't think anyone gave enough of a damn to put this sort of effort into getting me on their team."

"You don't think you're worth the effort?" Gideon wondered, and Bobby couldn't quite figure out whether the profiler was genuinely surprised by the admission, or whether he had already guessed at that particular insecurity.

"I didn't," Bobby admitted softly. "Now… I guess I'm not so sure."

"Well, you are," Gideon assured him. "I can guarantee it. I promise you, I wouldn't be here if all it was only for false comfort."

Bobby sat back slowly, more than a little overwhelmed by the enthusiastic affirmation from the renowned profiler. Slowly, Gideon got to his feet.

"I need to get going. I have a flight to catch. It was a pleasure to meet you, Bobby. I really do hope you'll give serious consideration to what I've said."

"I will," Bobby promised, accepting Gideon's outstretched hand once more. "Thankyou."

"My pleasure. You'll be hearing from me in the near future, Bobby. I promise."

Bobby nodded, watching somewhat wistfully as Gideon left.

"I hope so."

* * *

By the time Frank, Emily and Sophie returned, Bobby had returned to bed and was already fast asleep.

"He looks…" Frank started to say, and Emily finished the sentence for him.

"Peaceful," she murmured, and Frank nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, peaceful. I wonder what happened?"

"He had a visitor while you were gone," the nurse who had followed them in told them. "A man who identified himself as Federal agent. When he left, Bobby seemed very upbeat. He was smiling a lot more, and he went almost straight to sleep after we got him back into bed. He's been sleeping peacefully since then."

"A Federal agent?" Frank mused. "Well, I guess it can't have been anything bad."

"Wasn't one of those job offers he got from the FBI?" Emily wondered, her attention going to the conspicuous pile of papers on the side table.

"Yeah, it was," Frank said. "Maybe they came to up their offer."

"Alex won't be happy if he takes it," Emily remarked dryly, but Frank shrugged.

"I know how important they are to each other, but this is Bobby's life, and it isn't as though he and Alex are romantically involved. They're partners, and in the end Bobby has to do what's best for him."

"I'm not disputing that, Frank," Emily said. "Look, why don't you take Sophie back to the hotel? I'll stay with him tonight."

"Em, I can do that."

"I know, Hon, but you were here all last night, and all today. I don't think Bobby would begrudge you a decent night's sleep, especially when he seems to finally be getting one himself."

"It's not that," Frank protested. "I just… I feel that I owe it to him."

"Frank, honey, he knows you're sincere. You don't have to make yourself sick with exhaustion to prove to him that you're sincere. Go with Sophie back to the hotel, get some sleep, and be refreshed when you come back in the morning. I'll stay with him tonight."

For a long minute it seemed as though he was going to argue, only to finally see common sense and concede with reluctance.

"Okay," he murmured tiredly. "Thanks, Em."

* * *

Alex arrived early the next morning, delivered to the hospital by her brother. She couldn't quite contain her surprise at finding Bobby not only still asleep, but also apparently peaceful. Emily smiled at her in greeting, and vacated her chair beside the bed in favour of Alex.

"Good morning. How're you feeling, Alex?"

"Getting there," Alex murmured as she settled herself carefully into the chair next to the bed. "It's hurting a little less every day."

Emily suspected that she wasn't referring solely to the physical pain, but decided against speculating.

"That's good."

"How did he sleep?" Alex wondered.

"Pretty good, actually. He only woke up a few times through the night. He's been pretty peaceful, actually. Listen, Alex, now that you're here, I might go and get some breakfast."

"Go ahead," Alex encouraged her, quietly pleased at the thought of having some time alone with Bobby. "We'll be fine."

Emily smiled warmly, and impulsively leaned down to hug her gently.

"I know you will, Hon."

Alex watched her go, and when she turned her attention back to Bobby, she was smiling.

* * *

It was not quite five minutes later when she looked up to find a pair of warm, brown eyes watching her.

"Hey, you," Alex murmured, putting aside the newspaper to give him her full attention. "Heard you slept okay last night."

"Yeah," Bobby murmured. "I did. I, um… I had a visitor last night."

She raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It was Jason Gideon. You know, from the FBI."

Alex could quite suppress the brief rush of nerves she felt at that surprise announcement.

"Gideon, huh? What did he have to say?"

"He… He really wants me on his team, Alex. I don't think anyone has ever wanted me that much before."

She shifted uncomfortably, not especially liking where the conversation was headed.

"Bobby, I thought you said didn't want to join the FBI."

Slowly, Bobby looked around at her curiously.

"You sound upset."

"I… I just…"

"You just what? What, Alex?"

Alex drew in a long breath, as though steeling herself for a confrontation.

"Bobby, I don't want to lose you."

For long minutes, they just stared at each other. Alex watched him almost fearfully, while Bobby's dark gaze was inscrutable. In the long silence that hung between them, Alex's imagination ran riot.

She imagined Bobby losing his already thinly-stretched temper, and accusing her of using emotional blackmail to try and sabotage his chances of forging a new career for himself. She imagined him accusing her of not giving a damn about what was best for him or, indeed, giving a damn about _him_.

Then, slowly, she came back to reality to discover he was watching her with a knowing smile.

"Thankyou," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked, thoroughly confused. Bobby reached out and took her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"It meant a lot to know that other agencies want me… to know that the NYPD still wants me. But it means even more to know that _you_ still want me around. That… That means more than any job offer."

Feeling a relief that she didn't think she was capable of voicing, Alex stood up awkwardly and leaned over to hug him.

"If you want to take that job, I guess I can understand. It looks like a great offer. But I really don't want to lose you, Bobby, especially not to the goddamn FBI."

Bobby laughed softly in amusement.

"I told you that I don't want to work for the FBI, and I still don't. I told Gideon that, and he seemed to understand. He did say, though, that he hoped I'd stay open-minded about the FBI calling on me from time to time… kind of like a consultant."

"A consultant, huh?" Alex murmured. "I guess that's something to think about. Did he say they'd call on you?"

"Yeah, something like that. I wouldn't mind that, but I can't work for the FBI full-time. It just wouldn't work. It wouldn't feel right. I'm a cop… An NYPD cop. I'm not a Fed. I just… I hope…"

"What?" Alex prompted him when he hesitated. Bobby sighed softly.

"Captain Deakins asked me to wait on making a decision. He said he'd talk to the Commissioner. See, I want to accept that offer, but I just don't think I'd be able to cope with being stuck behind a desk. I need to be able to get outside… Talk to people… Look at crime scenes. I know I can't expect to be given active status, but I'm hoping that they might be able to come to some sort of compromise." He raised his eyes to her, suddenly stricken. "I don't want to… to resent you because of the things you can still do, but I can't."

Tears welled up in Alex's eyes before she could stop them.

"Bobby, I'm sorry…"

He squeezed her hand tightly, silencing her.

"I don't want you to feel guilt, either, not for something that neither of us can do anything about."

"It's not fair," she whispered miserably, and not for the first time. "This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to us. How could everything go so horribly wrong?"

With some effort, Bobby pushed himself up into a sitting position and pulled Alex up and into his arms.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered, holding her close. "You'll see. It'll work out somehow."

"I'm supposed to be the one reassuring you," she said in a muffled voice. "Not the other way around."

Bobby sighed softly.

"Alex, you have no idea how much you've already done for me. I don't mind giving a little back. And… I guess if there's anything good that's come out of this, it's that I can hug you like this now, and not feel like I'm overstepping some invisible line of propriety… or undermining you in some way." He paused, gathering his courage before speaking again tentatively. "I… I love you. You know that, don't you?"

She hugged him all the more tighter.

"Love you too, you big lug."

Another sigh escaped Bobby's lips. He'd wanted to say that for a long time now, but hadn't dared. Even though he only meant it in the platonic sense, both the fear of being misunderstood and the potential ramifications of any likely misunderstandings had effectively ensured that he keep his mouth shut.

Now, circumstances had been irreversibly altered, and those restraints had had held him in check for so long were gone forever.

"Do you really think you'll be okay?" Alex asked as she slowly pulled back. Bobby nodded.

"I think so. I know it's not going to be easy, but… I also know I don't have to do this on my own. I owe you… and your family… so much."

"No, you don't," Alex countered. "You don't, Bobby. Don't you understand?" You're a part of our family, and we always look after our own. You'll never be alone again, unless you choose to be."

"And I don't," he murmured. "Thankyou, Alex. For everything."

Alex leant down to kiss him gently on the forehead, and then on the cheek.

"You're welcome."

They sat in comfortable silence for the next few minutes until Bobby spoke again.

"Matt seems to think I should be ready to go home in a month… maybe less."

"Hey, that's great news," Alex enthused. Almost immediately, though, her excitement for him waned as she recognised trepidation in his eyes. "Bobby? What's wrong?"

"It… It's just… I…" He drew in a shuddering breath as he struggled to say what he needed to say. "My apartment isn't exactly equipped for me anymore. But… I don't have anywhere else to go."

Alex shut her eyes, and groaned softly.

"Oh god… Bobby, I am so sorry."

He stared at her, puzzled.

"Why? What are you talking about?"

"Two days ago, the Super from your building… A Bill Turnbull…? He got in touch with me. He said he had an offer to make that might solve your housing problem, and asked if I'd run it by you. But then I went and forgot!"

"Well, what did he say?" Bobby asked, at a loss to guess what the building Super could possibly suggest that would solve this particular problem.

"He said there are two ground floor apartments in your building. His, and the apartment belonging to a Geoff Winters…?"

"Yes," Bobby confirmed. "That's right."

"Okay. He said Mr Winters is moving away from New York. He's moving to a retirement home in Pennsylvania, apparently, to be closer to family."

"And Bill is offering me Geoff's apartment?" Bobby asked. "Alex, that doesn't solve anything. Geoff's apartment is no more wheelchair friendly than mine is."

"Will you let me finish?" Alex chided him lightly. "Bill said that he was willing to move into Mr Winters' apartment, and if you're willing, you can have his apartment."

"Bill's apartment?" Bobby asked, stunned.

"Yes, a three-way switch, sort of. He said his apartment is fully set up to cater to someone in a wheelchair. Apparently the previous Super was quadriplegic. Plus, you'd be on the ground floor, and you wouldn't have to worry about lifts, stairs, or anything like that."

Bobby stared at her, baffled.

"But… Why would he do all that? Why would he go to that sort of trouble? I don't understand."

"He said you were too valuable a tenant to lose, and that he really likes you. He wants to help you, Bobby, and this is his way of doing that. If you're okay with it, then I'll let him know. Apparently there's a bunch of people in the building who are happy to help moving furniture and everything. My dad and my brothers said they'd help, too. You only have to say yes. Oh, and Bill said to let you know that the rent would still be exactly the same. No change."

Bobby shuddered, overcome with emotion at the generous offer.

"I… I want to…"

"But?"

"But… I feel like I'm… I'm taking advantage, somehow."

Alex's eyebrows shot up in incredulity.

"Taking advantage? Of who, Bobby? Seriously, do you hear yourself? That is utterly ridiculous!"

Bobby flushed a dull red at her exclamation.

"I didn't say it wasn't ridiculous. But I can't help how I feel. I appreciate what everyone is doing, but I can't help feeling embarrassed. I just…"

"You never expected all of this?" Alex asked gently, and Bobby nodded.

"Yes."

"You really had such a low opinion of yourself that you didn't think people would want to help you?" Alex wondered in surprise. Bobby looked even more embarrassed, if that were even possible.

"I didn't realise…"

"What? That you've had such a huge impact on so many lives? Well, you have, and you'd better get used to people wanting to help you."

A strange look flickered across Bobby's face, rapidly shifting to what Alex recognised as a clear sign of withdrawal.

"Don't," she murmured, reaching across to grasp his hand. He tried to pull away from her, but she held on tightly, until he ceased fighting her. "Don't you retreat from me, Bobby. Not now. You can't just shut yourself away anymore. It's not like before. You need help. You need to be able to accept help. It's not an indictment against you, either. It's not a sign of weakness. It's just plain fact that your life is different now, and it's time to deal with that. You have to start accepting this, Bobby. We both do."

Tears filled his eyes as her words finally began to sink in, and the next thing she knew, it was him who was gripping her hand in a vice-like hold. He'd finally stopped fighting, she realised with a powerful rush of relief. He'd ceased fighting, and was finally starting to accept the challenging turn his life had taken.

"I'm scared, Alex," he admitted in a whisper.

"So am I, but I'm not leaving you. Whether we get to keep working together or not, I don't care. You're still stuck with me, Bobby. Besides, if you think my mom and dad are going to let you withdraw, you've got another thing coming."

A tremulous smile touched his lips.

"They… Everyone… has been so supportive."

"And they'll continue to be," Alex assured him. "Just don't go pushing them away. Don't push me away."

"I'll try not to," he whispered. All of a sudden, he was feeling almost painfully tired. Alex smiled, and stretched over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"Go to sleep, Bobby. I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

His eyes fluttered closed only moments later and, even as Alex watched, he slid back into the sanctuary of sleep.

* * *

_That Evening_

"I want to visit Mom."

Dr Fielding froze in the middle of checking Bobby's blood pressure. He looked up at Frank, John and Alex, all of whom looked equally pole-axed by the unexpected demand.

"Bobby…" Fielding started to argue, but Bobby cut him off.

"You said earlier today that I was ready to leave the hospital for short stints. I want to be able to visit Mom."

"I meant going out for a meal, or perhaps a shopping trip, or a visit to the park. Carmel Ridge is a little further than I had in mind!"

Bobby, however, was not backing down, and the challenge in his voice and expression was there for everyone to hear and see.

"She's my mother, and I have a right to see her." He hesitated, and then said in a faltering, less certain tone, "I… I _need_ to see her."

"I'm not disputing that," Fielding insisted. "It happens that I think you're right, but Bobby… I honestly don't think you're ready."

Anger flared in Bobby's dark eyes.

"You don't think I'm ready to see my own mother? That isn't your decision to make, Dr Fielding."

"It is if I think it would be detrimental to your recovery," Fielding corrected him quietly. The look on Bobby's face bordered between pleading and threatening, and suggested nothing but pure obstinacy. It was rapidly deteriorating into a battle of wills between patient and doctor, and no one – not even Alex – was sure who would win this particular fight.

"If it makes any difference, he wouldn't be going alone," Frank spoke up suddenly, winning himself a dirty look from the doctor. "I'd be going with him."

"That is beside the point," Fielding growled. "I do not need Bobby placing himself in a situation that could place undue stress on him, and potentially set back his recovery and rehab."

"Doc," John Eames spoke up quietly, "let me put it simply. We either find a way to make this work, or you're likely to come up and find him gone. I promise you, our boy here has no shortage of friends who would cheerfully help him to do a disappearing act."

Fielding glowered in frustration as he looked back at Bobby.

"You would really go to those extremes?"

"She's my mother," Bobby said plaintively by way of an answer. Groaning, Fielding dropped into a vacant chair.

"Goddamn it. All right… Okay. I'll call Carmel Ridge and make arrangements for you to visit there tomorrow. But I have a condition for you, and it's non-negotiable. You accept it and abide by it, or you don't go at all."

"What condition?" Bobby asked warily.

"You will be transported there and back in an ambulance. I will not have your physical recovery put in jeopardy by letting you be jolted around in a car. You will go in an ambulance, and I will be sending a nurse with you, to look after you."

By then, Bobby was looking downright sour.

"That's two conditions," he pointed out, audibly and visibly annoyed. Fielding was unapologetic.

"Yes, it is. And you're going to abide by them, or I'll personally arrange for you to be locked in your room, and only let out for physio. Am I making myself clear?"

In the end, Bobby had no choice but to comply.

"Okay," he grumbled sourly. "I got it. Ambulance, and a nurse. Although, I don't know why any nurse would want to accompany me."

"Are you kidding me?" John retorted with a grin. "With the way the nurses have been falling over themselves to help you, there could be a riot choosing just one."

"Don't tease him, Dad," Alex chided her father, although she couldn't stop grinning herself. "Bobby can't help that the entire female nursing staff is attracted to him."

"When are visiting hours over again?" Bobby asked ruefully, causing laughter to erupt. Fielding patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Never mind. They're only jealous."

Bobby glowered at the floor, red-faced with embarrassment.

"That just makes me feel so much better…"

* * *

The following morning, Bobby impatiently endured the morning routine of breakfast, showering and dressing. He was steadily becoming more adept at those basic tasks, although something as simple as pulling on a pair of pants was still presenting him with some difficulties. One thing that he was quietly grateful for was that he was at least able to get himself to and from the toilet, saving himself a considerable amount of embarrassment.

Professional though the nurses were, it was a constant source of embarrassment that so many women seemed to have intimate knowledge of his body.

Once the morning tasks had been taken care, Bobby could do nothing but sit and wait.

Frank arrived just after nine, followed by John, Marty and Alex. Alex had been determined that she wasn't going to be left behind, even if it meant being confined to a wheelchair herself. John and Marty had both made it clear that they were going specifically to support Bobby in what they all expected was going to be a very difficult visit. Emily had reluctantly agreed to stay behind after she and Frank and decided together that Carmel Ridge was perhaps not the best environment for Sophie.

A transport ambulance had been arranged by Dr Fielding, and now they were only waiting on the arrival of whichever nurse had been chosen to accompany Bobby. When the door opened, though, and Fielding walked in, Bobby's face fell.

"You're here to tell me that it's off," he said in a soft, resentful tone. Fielding smiled wryly and shook his head.

"Not at all, Bobby. You're still going to visit your mother today. I spoke to her doctor earlier, and he said today is as good as any day to go to Carmel Ridge. The only change of plan is that I've decided not to send a nurse with you."

Bobby's face lit up at that news, but Fielding went on quickly.

"Don't look so thrilled, Bobby. I haven't finished, yet."

"Well, then, what…?" Bobby stammered.

"_I'm_ going with you instead," Fielding told him with a grin. The statement was met with a blank stare from Bobby that rapidly degenerated into a glare of pure antipathy.

"You?" he burst out indignantly. "But how? Don't you have rounds? Other patients to harass?"

Again, Fielding chuckled.

"Now, I know you're more observant than that, Bobby. Don't tell me that you didn't notice that I was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt instead of my usual suit?"

"Your day off?" Bobby asked sourly.

"That's right," Fielding confirmed. "So it's my prerogative to come with you if I wish. Now, before you argue any further, you might like to know that the ambulance is waiting downstairs. Are you going to be the one delaying this little field trip now?"

Bobby shot Fielding a dark look, and shoved down roughly on the wheels of the chair, manoeuvring himself out of the room without saying a word.

* * *

"Why?"

Fielding regarded Bobby quizzically.

"Why what, Bobby?"

"Why would you come with me?" Bobby asked softly. "Why not just send a nurse? Why would you bother?"

"Do you really not understand?" Fielding wondered, and Bobby shrugged in response.

"I guess I'm just not at the top of my game at the moment."

The doctor smiled in sympathy. He could understand that more than Bobby knew.

"Fair enough. The truth is, I give a damn about all of my patients, and I would do this for any one of them. But another point is that your mother's doctor suggested that this might not be an easy visit for you."

Bobby eyed him coolly.

"So you thought you'd come along and hold my hand?"

"Go easy, Bobby," Frank said with an uneasy laugh. "He's only trying to help, bud."

"It's okay, Frank," Fielding reassured him. "Bobby, I understand what you're saying. All I'm saying is that I want to make sure that this visit impacts on your recovery in the least possible way."

Bobby's expression darkened at the doctor's words, his intuition picking up on a more covert meaning. He wondered just what Dr Shimo might have told Dr Fielding, but decided not to pursue it. He could accept that the doctor only had his best interests at heart, but it was no easy thing for him to accept that his private life was suddenly open to all and sundry.

"Are you okay, bud?" Frank asked tentatively. Bobby looked around at him, his eyes red with unshed tears.

"I'm in a wheelchair, I'm on my way to see Mom in an ambulance, and I need to be accompanied by medical staff. My private life has been thrown open for everyone to see, so what do you think?"

"Sorry, kid, I didn't mean it like that," Frank murmured, and immediately Bobby looked regretful.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just... This is hard."

"We know," Frank assured him. "That's why you're not doing it alone."

* * *

They arrived at Carmel Ridge to a reception committee that consisted of Dr Shimo and two male orderlies, both of whom stepped in to help get Bobby out of the ambulance.

"Hello, Bobby," Shimo greeted him with quiet seriousness. He made no trite efforts to express his sympathy. All of that was conveyed in the very simple gesture of laying a hand on Bobby's shoulder.

"Is she ready?" Bobby asked, and for the first time his voice betrayed his nervousness.

"As ready as we could make her. I tried to talk to her about your condition, but I'm afraid she wasn't very receptive. Her focus has been very much on your lack of phone calls and visits."

Bobby sighed softly. Go figure...

"Okay. Let's get on with this."

At Bobby's request, he and Frank went on to Frances' room while Alex, John, Marty and Fielding all waited further down the corridor. Alex had been less than happy about letting him go on without her, and she had shot Frank an absolute death glare to warn him to take care of his little brother.

Frank, to his credit, had responded with a nod, silently promising to do just that.

"You ready?" Frank asked quietly. They had agreed on the way to Carmel Ridge that Frank would go in first, and try to prepare Frances as much as possible before Bobby went in. Now, Bobby regarded the door with visible trepidation.

"Not really."

"Look, if you don't want to..."

"Just open the door," Bobby whispered. Nodding, Frank opened the door and stepped through.

* * *

_tbc..._


	13. Finding Solidarity

A/N: _To everyone who left a review or messaged me after the last chapter, expressing concerns over what Bobby's visit with his mother might turn out to be like... Well, let's just say I'm posting this and then ducking for cover._

* * *

"Frank!" Frances burst out, delight evident in her voice. "Oh my goodness, Frank! You came to see me!"

"I said I would, didn't I, Ma?" Frank said with a weary smile as he leaned down to kiss her.

"Yes, you did, and you always keep your word, unlike that ingrate brother of yours."

"Stop it, Ma," Frank growled, acutely aware that Bobby had probably heard every word. "Bobby's here. He came with me."

"Well, where is he?" Frances demanded, trying to peer around Frank as though Bobby was hiding behind him. "Bobby?"

"Mom, before he comes in, you need to prepare yourself, okay? Remember what I told you when I was here a few days ago?"

Frances snorted derisively.

"I remember you trying to make up ridiculous excuses for your brother not coming to see me."

It took every ounce of inner strength that Frank had not to just snap at her.

"It wasn't an excuse, Mom. Something really bad happened to Bobby. He was shot, Ma. He was shot, and the bullet did a lot of damage. He's paralysed from the waist down. Bobby's in a wheelchair, Ma."

If Frances had taken any heed of Frank's words, though, she gave no sign. Instead, she continued looking past Frank, searching for sight of her younger son. Sighing a little, Frank called for Bobby to come in.

His heart in his throat, Bobby manoeuvred himself into the room, and into the disapproving stare of his sick mother.

"Well, look at this," Frances retorted scathingly. "How the mighty have fallen. You know I always said you'd come crashing down, didn't I? The big, tough policeman, so proud and full of himself…"

"Ma, knock it off," Frank snapped angrily. "Leave him alone."

Frances looked to Frank with a reproving frown, but didn't argue.

"All right, then. You'd better tell me what happened."

Loathed though he was to relive the incident in the warehouse all over again, Bobby nonetheless related it back to Frances. She listened in silence, without interrupting, but Bobby knew from the look on her face that she was not at all sympathetic to him.

"Well," she said shortly once he'd finished. "Maybe now you'll stop your delusions of grandeur, and being the big hero, and find yourself a real job like Frank here."

"Ma, stop it!" Frank burst out. "Damn it, I don't have a job, so quit holding me up like some goddamn saint! Hell, I'd be lucky if I could get a job as a janitor right now! Bobby's the one you should be proud of, not me. He's so good at what he does that even now, when he's paralysed, there are people fighting over him because they all want him to work for them. The FBI wants him so bad that their top profiler came to New York personally to see Bobby! So just stop with the criticism and the snide comments, okay?"

Frances shifted on the chair, regarding both her sons coolly.

"Is that true, Bobby?"

Bobby didn't know right then whether to hit Frank or to thank him.

"Yeah, Mom. It… It's true."

"Well, then, I guess your mother was wrong. Happy now?"

"Ah, damn it, Ma," Frank growled, standing up and starting to pace the room in frustration.

"Frank, would you please go and get me a soda?" Frances asked in a suddenly placid voice. Frank hesitated, looking from Frances to Bobby, and back to Frances again.

"Well, can't we just ask a nurse to get you one?"

"I want you to do it," she told him. "Obviously Bobby is incapable."

Bobby winced slightly at the deliberate dig, and Frank frowned darkly at Frances in irritation for his little brother. Frances went on, seemingly oblivious to their reactions.

"Besides, I want to talk to your brother alone for a few minutes."

A distant alarm bell began to ring faintly in Frank's mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

"I don't know, Ma…"

"It's okay, Frank," Bobby murmured, and even as he looked down at his brother, Frank knew that Bobby was bracing himself for a fresh round of verbal abuse. The look in his eyes spoke in volumes.

_Let's just get this over with, and then we can get the hell out of here_…

Sighing inwardly and hoping he wasn't making a tremendous mistake, Frank reluctantly conceded and, patting Bobby's shoulder supportively, he trudged out of the room. Once he was gone, Frances got up and walked over to shut the door. Bobby watched with trepidation as she then came around to look at him head-on, her gaze unforgiving and unbelieving.

"All right. Don't you think this nonsense has gone on long enough?"

A chill raced down Bobby's spine at the all-too-familiar tone of her voice.

_Please God, not another breakdown_, he thought numbly. _Not now_…

"Mom, I don't…"

"You may have your brother fooled," Frances snapped. "He always did have a soft spot for you, God love him. But I know better, don't I, Robert?"

Bobby felt the nausea roll through his stomach. His mother was teetering on the brink of a fresh psychotic break, and he'd told Frank it was okay to go and leave him alone with her…

"Mom, please…"

His words were cut short when she slapped him hard across the face, leaving a fierce red welt on his cheek.

"Stop it. Just stop it. Don't you dare take that whining tone with me, Robert Goren. And you can get your lazy behind up and out of that chair, too. You're not an invalid. Good god, Bobby, your father will be home any minute! Do you really want him to catch you fooling around like this?"

For the first time in a long, long while, Bobby suddenly felt like he was seven years old again – frightened, and helpless to stop his mother's descent into madness. All of a sudden, he wanted desperately to be out of there, and as far away from her as he could get.

"Mom, I can't get up," Bobby told her shakily, willing her with all his strength to understand and accept what he was telling her. "Frank told you the truth. I… I'm paralysed."

His head rocked violently to the side as she hit him again.

"I said enough! Do you want me to have to tell your father about this? So you want him to beat you again? Because that's what you're heading for, young man."

"Ma, please," Bobby begged, while at the same time trying to manoeuvre himself out of her reach. "Stop! Dad's not going to walk in… He's not coming home…"

She hit him a third time, this time backhanding him across the face, and he cried out in pain as he felt his nose break from the impact.

"And whose fault is that, you deceitful little bastard? Now, for the last time, will you get up out of that contraption!"

"Mom, look at me!" Bobby choked out. "Don't you think I would, if I could? I can't walk, Mom! My legs don't work anymore!"

Slowly, Frances turned away from him.

"So you won't get up."

"I told you, I can't," Bobby insisted.

What happened next happened so fast that Bobby barely had time to register it, let alone physically react to defend himself. When Frances turned back towards him, Bobby had just a second to realise that she'd picked up the water jug from the side table.

He saw it coming at his head, and instinctively tried to pull backwards in a futile attempt to avoid being struck. He was too late, though. The glass jug, made all the heavier by the volume of water it held, collided with his face and smashed against his cheek, jaw and temple.

Pain exploded in Bobby's face and skull. Worse, the force of the blow added to his own backwards momentum, causing him to overbalance. He went over backwards in the wheelchair, crying out again as he landed in a painful, twisted heap on the floor with the wheelchair partially on top of him.

Dimly, he was aware of his mother standing over the top of him, screaming hysterically, but nothing she said registered in his mind. All he knew was the searing pain in his face.

The last thought that slid through his mind as he gave in to the darkness that was waiting to claim him was why in the hell had they allowed his mother to have a glass pitcher in her room…?

* * *

Frank had reached the nurses' station just around the corner before deciding it was ludicrous to leave Bobby alone with their mother, particularly when she was in such an abusive frame of mind. Asking one of the nurses to get the soda that he was fairly certain she didn't really want, Frank hurried back to Frances' room.

He was almost to the door when he realised that the raised voices he could hear close by were, in fact, coming from within her room. Before he could discern what was being said, there was a loud crash from inside, intermixed with an audible cry of pain that Frank immediately recognised as coming from his little brother.

Stricken, Frank rushed to the room and pushed on the door, only to discover that it would not open.

"Ma!" he yelled. "Ma, open the door!"

There was another heavy thump, and then Frances spoke in a disturbingly calm voice.

"Go back to your room, Frank. I'm disciplining your brother."

"Mom, no!" Frank screamed, pounding uselessly on the door. "Stop! Don't hurt him!"

"Your father will be home very soon, Frank. Just go back to your room. This isn't your concern."

"Ma, open the door!" Frank yelled, but Frances was no longer responding, and from inside the room Frank could hear the disturbing sound of dull thuds – as though something, or someone, was being repeatedly hit.

"Ma, damn you!"

"What the hell is going on?"

It was Dr Shimo, returning with Dr Fielding.

"It's Mom," Frank gasped. "She's in there with Bobby, and I think she's hurting him. I can't get the door open, she must've locked it."

"These doors don't lock, not from the inside or the outside, in case of emergencies." He tried the door, only to discover that it wouldn't budge, just as Frank had said. "There must be something on the other side, jamming it."

"Or someone," Fielding said in a tense voice. "Bobby! Can you hear me?"

There was no response, just as Fielding had feared.

"Ma, open the goddamn door!" Frank bellowed again, terror starting to creep into his voice.

"Frank, go back to your room!" Frances ordered him. "You don't want to be there when your father comes home."

"Mom, you're hurting Bobby!" Frank choked out in distress.

"It's for his own good. He's much better off taking this from me, than his father."

"Sweet Jesus, she's going to kill him," Shimo groaned, even as he hit the panic button that was a part of his pager, summoning help.

"Frank, what was your father's name?" Fielding asked urgently.

"William… Bill. Why?"

"What was he like with Bobby? Kind? Cruel? Indifferent? Quickly!"

"Sometimes indifferent, sometimes cruel… Although, he hated seeing Mom lay into Bobby. Even though he beat Bobby himself, he saw what he dished out as discipline, but when Mom beat him, it was just because she was crazy, you know?"

Fielding didn't hesitate. Hoping to God that he was doing the right thing, he turned to the jammed door and spoke loudly in as deep and authoritative a voice as he could manage.

" Frances! Open up this goddamn door right now!"

Sudden silence fell inside the room.

"Bill?" Frances called out tentatively. Not daring to look at Frank or Dr Shimo, Fielding spoke again, keeping his voice as rough and angry as he could.

"Yeah, it's me. What the hell are you doing in there?"

"I'm disciplining Bobby! You always said I had to be tougher on him!"

"Goddamn it, Frances, I meant quit pandering to the boy. I didn't mean go ahead and beat the crap out of him! Now open the damn door, or I swear to God I'll break it down!"

For the longest minute, they waited in deathly silence, waiting to see whether the trick worked. Just when they all thought it hadn't, they heard a strange sound on the other side, like something being dragged, and then the door slowly opened.

Shimo wasted no time, sending in the orderlies who had appeared after he'd hit the panic button. Frances shrieked in protest, but her cries went unheeded as she was forcibly restrained on the bed and then sedated by Dr Shimo.

"Oh god, Bobby," Frank groaned as he fell to his knees beside his brother. Fielding crouched beside him, checking first for a pulse before anything else.

"Pulse is good and strong," he murmured, sounding relieved. "Frank, go out to the ambulance, and get the guys to bring in the gurney. I want to get him back to St Clare's as quickly as possible."

"We have a hospital attached to the centre," Shimo said as he turned away from Frances' now-sedated form. "God almighty, she smashed the water jug on his face…"

"Broke his nose… and his cheekbone, too, by the looks of it," Fielding growled. "Damn it…"

"I shouldn't have left him alone," Frank whispered, and both doctors eyed him grimly.

"I'm not going to enter into that," Fielding told him. "You'll have enough of a time explaining it to Alex and to your wife."

The ashen colour Frank's face told both Fielding and Shimo that that thought had most certainly already occurred to him, and he was not looking forward to it at all.

* * *

When Alex, John and Marty arrived back at the reception area, they were first surprised and then alarmed to find Frank sitting there, his face buried in his hands.

"Frank?" John asked softly. "What's happened?"

"I screwed up," Frank said dismally. With some effort, he looked Alex in the eye. "I'm sorry, I really screwed up. I left Bobby alone with Mom, and everything went to hell."

"Where's Bobby?" Alex asked hoarsely, feeling the distinct clutch of panic in her gut.

"They took him away to treat his injuries," Frank answered. "Mom… She had a psychotic break, and she went off on Bobby. She smashed a glass water jug on his face. Broke his nose, his cheekbone… Half his face swelled up like a goddamn balloon. He's gonna have one hell of a concussion when he wakes up. God, I am so sorry…"

"Tell us what happened before you drive yourself mad with guilt," Marty insisted and, with his gazed fixed on the floor, Frank numbly related what had happened.

"So… Bobby told you it was okay to go," Alex said when he'd finished speaking.

"Yeah, but I should've known better."

"How could you?" Alex asked softly. "Bobby knows your mother better than anyone. He knows the signs. If he thought it was okay to leave them alone, why would you doubt him?"

Frank sighed, quietly astonished that she didn't seem to be blaming him at all.

"I suppose… But I still shouldn't have left him alone with her."

It wasn't your fault," Alex said flatly. Blaming yourself isn't going to help Bobby. Aside from what you said… is he okay?"

"I don't know," Frank admitted miserably. "Bobby looked pretty badly beat up. I was waiting here for Dr Fielding. He said he'd come and let me know how he was."

"Well, then," John said resignedly as he sat down. "I guess we have to just wait."

* * *

It was another twenty minutes before Dr Fielding finally reappeared, and he greeted them with a weary nod.

"Where's Bobby?" Alex demanded.

"Still in the emergency treatment ward. We're just waiting for the swelling to subside a little."

"Is he awake?" Frank asked, and again Fielding nodded.

"Yes, he's awake, and feeling rather sorry for himself. Fortunately, the worst of the damage was to his face…"

"Fortunately?" Alex echoed incredulously. "How can you say fortunately?"

"Alex, he went over backwards in the wheelchair, and it landed on top of him. He could have easily broken his arm all over again, and that would have set his rehab back a good couple of months. He may have suffered a fractured cheekbone, and he won't exactly be pretty to look at for a week or so, but this won't affect his rehab. Believe me, it could have been a lot worse, physically speaking.

"I'm glad you said physically, Doctor," John said ruefully. "Because God only knows what Bobby's state of mind will be like now."

"He'll be okay," Alex whispered, though whether she was saying it out of any degree of certainty, or purely out of hope, none of them knew for sure.

* * *

The journey back to St Clare's was a sombre one. Bobby would not say a word to anyone, and his mood was obviously not helped by the fact that he was clearly in pain. His uncommunicative manner didn't get any better upon arrival back at the hospital, and all efforts to draw him into conversation were met by a veritable wall of resistance.

Despite attempts to encourage him to perhaps pay a visit to the hospital library, or go to the garden to enjoy what was in fact a pleasantly warm day, Bobby returned to his room and to bed. He refused to meet anyone's gaze, or respond to concerned inquiries.

By that time, the left side of his face was virtually unrecognisable, and his eye was completely closed over. His despondency was more than understandable, given the morning's events, but his utter lack of response and refusal to show emotion had everyone worried.

"I think it might not be a bad idea if it could be arranged for someone to stay with him tonight," Fielding said quietly as they stood in the passageway outside Bobby's room. "I really don't want him to be left alone."

"Sure," Frank murmured. "I'll stay."

"I don't mind staying, either," Marty added.

"If you can sort it between you, that would be great," Fielding murmured.

"No need," Alex said abruptly. "_I'll_ stay."

Silence met her statement, and the four men stared at her incredulously.

"Alex…" John started to protest, but she cut him off fiercely.

"Don't, Dad. Don't stand there and tell me I can't. I'm not a child, and I'm not helpless. I'm perfectly capable of spending a night here to support my partner."

"We aren't saying you can't, sweetheart," John tried to placate her. "All I'm trying to say is remember that you're not yet fully recovered yourself, and you don't need to be pushing yourself beyond your own limits."

"That is my partner and my best friend in there," Alex growled, "and he needs support. He won't ask for it, though, and he doesn't easily accept it when it's offered. None of you have a real clue about what Bobby's had to deal with all these years with his mom…" She paused, looking grimly at Frank. "Not even you. Over four years, though, he's opened up to me. He trusts me, and as far as I know, I'm the only one he's ever accepted help and emotional support from. That's starting to change now, but not enough. Not yet. So I'm telling you right now that I'm going to stay here with him tonight, because if anyone else stays, you won't get a solitary word out of him. I guarantee it."

"She's right," Frank said ruefully. "I couldn't even get Bobby to look at me on the way back here. I think Alex here is probably the only one who might be able to get through to him right now."

John frowned, but Alex shot Frank a grateful look for his sincere support.

"Alex, you can't spend all night in a chair!" John protested once more.

"She won't have to," Fielding said. "I'll arrange for another bed to be brought in, just for tonight."

"I'm fighting a losing battle, aren't I?" John asked grimly.

"Yes, you are," Alex agreed. "Please don't keep arguing, Dad. I appreciate everything you've done so far for Bobby, and I know that he does, too. But please, let me take care of him now. He needs me… and I need to be with him. Please…"

"You really think you know the best thing for him now?" Marty wondered, and Alex glowered at him.

"If you weren't my uncle, I'd be offended by that. And I don't I know what's best for him. I _know_ I do." She turned her attention back to Fielding. "You want someone to stay with Bobby. It's going to be me. End of discussion."

Fielding smiled, knowing the argument was well and truly over.

"All right, Alex. Okay."

* * *

"That really is one hell of a doctor that Bobby's got," Frank mused quietly as he, John and Marty sat together in the cafeteria, after an almost militant Alex had sent them out of Bobby's room.

"How do you mean?" Marty wondered. "I mean, I know he's good, but…"

"This morning, at Carmel Ridge," Frank told them. "We couldn't get into Mom's room when she was beating Bobby. She was totally lost in her delusion, you know? I thought we were going to have to break the door down, and that would have been bad, because it was Bobby that was blocking the door. He was all tangled up in the wheelchair. Anyway, Dr Fielding started talking. He played to Mom's delusion and pretended to be Dad. He was good, too. Really good. I could've almost believed it. He talked Mom into opening the door! I thought Bobby was the only one who could pull off something like that, but Dr Fielding did it… and he saved Bobby from getting hurt even worse. It was incredible."

"I think that doctor has a soft spot for Bobby," John mused, and Marty chuckled.

"Like we don't? We all care about him, Johnny. I just hope _he_ knows that, especially after what happened this morning."

"While he's got Alex looking out for him?" John said softly. "Yeah. He knows."

* * *

Neither Alex nor anyone else could get a response out of Bobby throughout the rest of the day. He wouldn't speak, and would not meet anyone's gaze. First his lunch, and then his dinner sat untouched. They could not even encourage him to take a solitary sip of water. Even threats of an IV drip could not get a reaction.

By the time the others finally left Alex alone with him for the night, the situation was fast approaching desperate, and Alex knew that if she couldn't break him out of his depression by morning, then drastic action would have to be taken. She hoped and prayed she could get through to him before then.

For the longest while, Alex sat there, watching as Bobby maintained his stoic façade. He wouldn't talk to her, or even look at her, and she made no attempt to engage him in conversation. She took his hand in her own after a while, and gently stroked her thumb against his palm. It was only when she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the back of his hand, though, that Bobby finally broke his silence and turned his head slowly towards her.

"What are you doing?"

His voice was soft, and sounded raw with grief. Alex watched him, doing her best to convey love rather than pity through her gaze.

"Whatever you'll let me do," she answered him gently. He looked away again, but couldn't hide the tears that began to slide down his cheeks.

"I don't know what you expect."

"Nothing, Bobby. I just want you to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise you."

His breath caught audibly in his throat, but he said nothing. Silence fell again, and neither of them broke it for some time. When it was eventually broken, though, it was Bobby who broke it, and he spoke in a shattered tone that broke her heart.

"I… I just wanted her to look at me… to show me some sympathy… to… to show she cared. Was that really too much to ask?"

"No," Alex murmured. "It wasn't."

"I… I just… I wanted…"

She squeezed his hand gently.

"You wanted her to be a mom."

That did it. With those words, the floodgates opened. The tears came in a torrent as Bobby finally broke down and let go of the grief that he had been clinging to all day.

"Why couldn't she be?" he choked out. "Why can't she be what I need her to be? What… What did I do wrong?"

Alex made no effort to wipe away the tears she was shedding in response to his heartache.

"I don't know, Bobby. I wish I did."

She didn't try to remind him that he still had the love and support of her own family. She knew damn well that all the love they could give him in no way made up for what he had been missing virtually all of his life.

"What I do know," she went on shakily, "is that it's not because of you. It's not your fault, Bobby. Nothing you did, or didn't do, caused this and I know that _you_ know it too."

"Knowing and accepting… are two different things," he whispered. Alex lifted his hand and held it lovingly to her cheek.

"I know. Bobby, do you think you could answer me one question?"

He guessed what she wanted to ask before the words had a chance to leave her lips.

"You want to know why," he said. "Why I had to go see her… even though I knew she was going to abuse me."

"Yes," Alex answered simply. "I have to know, why would you open yourself up to that? And don't tell me that you had a responsibility, because that's bullshit. Your only responsibility right now is to take care of yourself. So why go?"

"I went because I hoped," he answered. "I hoped it'd be different. I hoped she'd see me this time. Really see me… I was an idiot."

"No," Alex said with a sudden ferocity that caused Bobby to look back at her with surprise. "Don't say that. You're never an idiot for hoping."

"I might as well not even exist as far as my mom's concerned," he said hoarsely, and she could hear the bitterness in his voice as he spoke. "She thought I was faking being paralysed just because… because… I don't even know why she thought that! Before she had the break, she… she said it was my own fault… for this…" He motioned vaguely to his legs, unable to suppress a distress shudder. "For having delusions of grandeur, and wanting to be a hero… and the worst part was, I couldn't contradict her! I just sat there thinking she was right. I… I did think like that, for a long time, even if I couldn't admit it before. So maybe… maybe this is God's way of knocking me off that pedestal…"

"Bobby, stop it!" Alex burst out. "Damn it, Goren, don't you make me slap you!"

He blinked, looking at her in surprise. She glowered right back at him, refusing to indulge him in his self-recrimination.

"Alex…"

"No, Bobby, I'm not letting you go down that road. You are not, nor have you ever been arrogant. You've never done anything with the intention of being lauded as a hero. I don't think I've ever known a humbler man in my life! And hell, I don't know anyone else who's been awarded a Medal of Honour, and then keeps it shut away in his sock drawer where no one can see it!"

He blushed red, but said nothing. Alex went on in a soft, but still fierce tone.

"I may not go to church anymore, except with my family at Christmas, but I don't believe God is so cruel that he'd do this to someone, just to take them down a peg or two. If He is behind it… and I don't know about that, either… then I have to believe there's a deeper reason for it. I can't believe God would willingly inflict so much pain on someone just for the hell of it."

Bobby uttered a short, guttural laugh.

"My mom always believed that. She always told me God would punish me sooner or later because I was evil. She… She'd tell me it didn't matter how much I tried to be good, that I was born evil, and there was nothing I could do about it. When… When I was accepted to the Police Academy, all she said was that pride came before a fall, and that I was going to fall far and hard. I… I guess it shouldn't have surprised me when she acted like she did. What hurts though… What really hurts is knowing that if it had been Frank who was in this situation, she would have been fawning all over him. I… I just wish I knew why she hates me so much…"

He broke down, sobbing softly as the grief overtook him finally. Alex watched helplessly for just a few long seconds before getting slowly to her feet.

"Okay, pal, move your ass over."

Her unexpected words jolted him momentarily out of his grief.

"What…? Alex, what are you doing?"

"Honestly, I'm not really sure. Now, move yourself over before I think twice and decide this is actually a bad idea."

With some difficulty, Bobby shifted himself over, making room on the narrow bed for Alex to climb up beside him. She did so somewhat awkwardly, wincing a little in pain before managing to settle down beside him. Bobby lay frozen beside her, as though afraid to move, until Alex slid her arm around his broad shoulders and hugged him to her, and then stretched up a little to kiss him softly on the cheek.

"We're not doing anything wrong," she murmured, anxious to allay whatever fears he was harbouring. "You're my best friend, Bobby, and you need to see how much I love you."

Slowly, she felt him begin to relax and, eventually, she felt his arm slip around her waist and pull her in closer.

"I know," he whispered finally. "I… I know you do, Alex. Thankyou."

"Don't be afraid," she murmured, saying the words aloud as much for her own benefit as for Bobby's. "It'll be all right, somehow. And don't forget, your mother isn't the only family you have. You have Frank, Emily and Sophie… And you have my family… and we all love you."

She felt something damp as he pressed his cheek down against the top of her head and realised it was tears.

"Thankyou," he whispered again, hugging her tightly. "I… I love you, too, Alex. Thankyou…"

Even as he said the words, she felt him relax against her as sleep took him finally. She made no attempt to move, though. It wasn't so much that she didn't want to disturb him, as that she simply didn't want to remove herself from the comfort of his embrace.

Alex continued to watch him for a while in the darkness, reassured by his apparently peaceful slumber. That day had, undoubtedly, been the worst yet for Bobby, but he'd come through it – scarred, but otherwise intact. She wondered… no, she fervently hoped that he was finally coming to the end of that long, dark tunnel he'd been lost in. Watching him now, she thought that perhaps he was.

"Love you," she whispered, feeling a rush of emotion as she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. There was nothing romantic in her feelings, and she knew Bobby felt the same way, but regardless there was no denying the power in her love for him, whether it was as a lover or as a friend. "I'll always be there for you, Bobby," she murmured. "I promise. You'll never be alone again."

Satisfied with the strength of her quiet promise, both to him and to herself, Alex fell asleep.

* * *

_tbc..._


	14. Epilogue: An Unexpected Surprise

A/N: _You wouldn't credit this. You really wouldn't. After over twelve months, and me starting to think the muse had abandoned me entirely on all matters CI, this comes literally out of nowhere. I'd thought this might be the last chapter of this particular story, but as it turns out, it's not. Go figure. Let's all hope it won't be another twelve months before the next update._ :P

* * *

_Two months later_

Bobby slowed to a halt as the snow pattered down softly, having to pause to regain his bearings. It had been months, literally, since he'd last set eyes on One Police Plaza, and never from a perspective such as this. Almost as an afterthought, he set the brakes on his wheelchair – he was not particularly keen on rolling backwards, off the pavement and into the traffic. With that done, he took a moment to look up at the building that had effectively become a second home to him.

It was a daunting feeling, knowing that he was entering the place now in an entirely different capacity. Truth be told, even he didn't fully understand what that capacity was, yet. All he knew was that his status as Detective, First Grade, was terminated. He was here today at the request of the Commissioner and the District Attorney.

When Alex had learned of the meeting, she'd made several remarks, only half in jest, about the top dogs of the New York legal system getting into a bun fight over who got to re-hire him. Bobby wasn't so sure about that. Personally, he still couldn't understand why anyone would want to hire him now, but that was a self-doubt he had long since ceased voicing – if only because it was the fastest way to piss Alex off.

"You stay there for much longer, you're gonna turn into a snowman, Goren."

Bobby looked around quizzically, and a smile twisted across his lips.

"Hey, Logan. How's the new job going?"

Mike Logan shrugged nonchalantly, but Bobby would have had to have been blind to miss the gleam in his eyes.

"Beats Staten freaking Island any day. Not exactly the homicide placement I was hoping for, but beggars can't be choosers, right?"

Bobby smiled wryly at the comment. After the prospect of permanent paralysis had become bitter reality, Bobby had told Deakins to go ahead and start looking for someone to take his place in the Squad. It had been a hard thing for him to do, but he knew as well as Deakins did that the decision couldn't be forestalled any longer. He wasn't returning to Major Case, and the position had to be filled. Before Deakins had left, though, Bobby had suggested Mike Logan's name, remembering the assistance the long-time detective had given them during the Staten Island prison case.

Deakins had appeared to take the suggestion seriously at the time, and Bobby had soon forgotten he'd even mentioned it. But then, a couple of weeks later, Alex had come to visit him looking wide-eyed with disbelief. The captain had pulled some strings, and the infamous Mike Logan was coming to Major Case.

The entire squad had been unsettled by Mike's inclusion in the Squad, but he'd apparently settled in quickly, and proven that his reputation as a damned good detective was not undeserved.

"You're not a beggar, Logan," Bobby told him quietly, sincerely. "And you deserve to be there. Remember that."

Mike eyed Bobby thoughtfully.

"Thanks. Just wish it hadn't been in those circumstances."

Bobby didn't try to argue with him, primarily because he felt much the same way. It still hurt to think that his career with the NYPD had been brought to such a shuddering halt like this, but at the same time, he was long since past grieving over a life that was no more.

"So, you coming in?" Mike asked, and Bobby nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so. I have a meeting with the Commissioner and the DA. God knows what they want."

Mike smirked.

"Yeah. Right. God knows."

The comment was deliberate and calculating, and Bobby looked up at him in puzzlement and suspicion.

"Do you know something about this?"

Mike's eyes promptly went wide in a faux innocent look.

"Me? Not a thing. No one's told me a thing, I swear it."

Bobby grunted, deciding he was in no mood to interrogate a colleague… His stomach dropped a couple of inches. A _former_ colleague. Swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in his throat, Bobby shoved down on the wheels of his chair, and made his way into One Police Plaza. Had he taken just a moment to look back, though, he would have seen the wide grin that had appeared on Mike's face as the big cop followed him inside.

* * *

Bobby bypassed the eleventh floor, and headed straight up the fourteenth floor, and the office of the Commissioner. He was slightly unnerved upon arrival to find Deakins already there, waiting with not only the Commissioner and Arthur Branch, but the Chief of Detectives as well.

"Goren, thankyou for coming," the Commissioner greeted him warmly, leaning down only as far as he needed to shake Bobby's hand. "Let's go through into my office, shall we?"

Bobby followed the other men through, and nodded gratefully when Deakins shifted one of the chairs out of the way in order to make room for his wheelchair. The Commissioner's assistant took requests for coffee, and then they were alone to discuss business.

"All right," the Commissioner said, looking around the group meaningfully before letting his gaze come to rest on Bobby.

"I suppose you'd call this a conciliatory meeting. It's come to my attention that there's something of a dispute developing between the NYPD and the DA's office and you, Goren, are right in the middle of it."

Bobby opened his mouth to protest that he had no idea what was going on, but the Commissioner silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"Don't worry, Goren. I know you're in the dark at the moment. Hopefully things will be a bit clearer for you very soon. What I'm talking about are the job offers that have been extended to you by both the NYPD and the District Attorney's office."

All of a sudden, Bobby felt incredibly uncomfortable. The truth was that he had been seriously considering both offers, but had yet to decide on either.

"Tell me, Goren, had you made a decision yet on what you want to do?"

Bobby shook his head, increasingly uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Not yet, sir."

"All right. Now I'm sorry, but I need to ask a couple of questions that would otherwise be entirely your own business. But just bear with me, okay? Firstly, what aspects of each offer are you most interested in?"

Bobby shifted awkwardly in the wheelchair. Part of him was powerfully tempted to turn around and leave. After all, his brother, sister in-law and niece were all waiting for him a block away… And yet, he found himself answering, albeit unwittingly.

"Well… I appreciate the salary offered by the DA's office," he admitted, deciding that if he was going to be asked questions like that, then he might as well be honest in his reply. "It's a lot closer to the amount that I know I could live comfortably on… and I like the freedom that I'd have to be able to go out and investigate for them... to actually talk to people. To..."

"Get involved," Deakins offered, and Bobby nodded.

"Yes. Get involved. With the NYPD's offer, I'd be pretty much confined to a desk. On the other hand, though, I could continue profiling with the NYPD, and that's something that I wouldn't have the opportunity to do with the DA's office."

"So let's look at it simply," the Commissioner said. "You'd like the job that the NYPD is offering at the salary that the District Attorney's office is offering, but with the freedom to go outside the office to investigate."

Bobby went red, but again the Commissioner waved away any potential protests.

"Relax, Goren. It's perfectly reasonable, and we all know how in demand you are." He grinned knowingly at the former detective. "And don't think I don't know about that offer from Jason Gideon. Now, I don't know about anyone else in this room, but I'll be damned if I'm going to lose you to the FBI, of all places."

"I wasn't planning on taking that offer, Commissioner," Bobby pointed out.

"So you say right now, but who's to say that further down the track you won't change your mind? That's why we're here today, Goren. We need to work this out, so that we don't lose one of the best profiling minds the NYPD has seen for years."

It took nearly all of Bobby's self control to keep from saying something he knew he would have regretted. As it was, he couldn't keep the expression on his face neutral, and the other men all picked up on it.

"You don't believe we're genuine, do you?" the Chief Bradshaw mused. Bobby reddened a little.

"Sorry. I don't mean any disrespect. It's just..."

"It's all right," Bradshaw assured him. "I know, the NYPD in general hasn't given you the respect you deserve. It shouldn't be any surprise now that you're finding all of this a little hard to swallow.

"Let's get to the point, shall we?" the Commissioner pressed on. "Goren, I've been discussing this matter with Chief Bradshaw and Mr Branch all morning, and we think we've come up with a solution for you. Of course, it's your decision ultimately. We're just hopeful that what we've come up with will be enough to tempt you to stay."

Bobby's eyebrows rose as Deakins handed him a folder that contained a dozen or so pages.

"I won't ask you to read all of that through now," the Commissioner said. "I'll just give you an overview, and then you can go away and think it over. Basically, we've agreed to offer you a position that splits your time between the DA's office, and the NYPD. You'd be officially employed by the NYPD, but contracted to work within the DA's office. You'll act as an independent investigator for the DA's office, and as a profiler for the NYPD. There'd be an office for you both here at One Police Plaza, and at Hogan Place, and of course you'll have the freedom to come and go as you like. And, if you care to look at the first page in that folder, you'll find the salary offered is quite substantial."

Bobby looked, and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"This... This is..." He paused, shaking his head to try and clear it. "I'm sorry. It's just that this is extraordinary! I never expected anything like this."

"Will you consider it?" the Commissioner asked. Bobby nodded, although he was already half way to making his decision.

"Yes, I will," he promised. "Uh... When do you need an answer?"

"Would by the end of the week seem unreasonable?" Branch queried. Bobby shook his head.

"No, that's fine. I think I can decide by then." He paused, looking around at them all with renewed appreciation. "Thankyou. This really is unbelievable."

"You're too valuable to lose, Goren," Bradshaw told him sincerely. "The NYPD may have been lax in the past about showing its appreciation for your skills, but no more. This is where you belong... and, from an entirely selfish point of view, we just don't want to share you with anyone else. Especially the FBI."

Again, Bobby fought back a smirk. It was common knowledge that Jason Gideon had come to see him twice more during his rehabilitation. The latter time he'd brought with him two of his colleagues – his second-in-command and Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner, and a young, goggle-eyed man by the name of Spencer Reid, who had just about talked Bobby's ear off in his enthusiasm. Not that Bobby had minded – it had proven to be the brightest point of what had otherwise been a very tiring and rather frustrating day. Before they'd left, Gideon had again reiterated his offer, and it had been backed up by Hotchner. Any time that he decided he was ready to move on, all he had to do was call.

News of the open offer had once again sent the NYPD hierarchy into a froth and this, apparently, was the result. It was all Bobby could do to keep a straight face, and he was still working on that half an hour later when he and Deakins rode back down in the elevator together. Deakins, knowing Bobby better than those they had left behind on the fourteenth floor, didn't miss Bobby's amusement, however cleverly concealed.

"How you didn't laugh in their faces, I'll never know."

Bobby looked up at Deakins in genuine surprise.

"Sorry…?"

Deakins smiled.

"C'mon, Bobby. I saw the look on your face every time the FBI was mentioned. Admit it, you're enjoying being able to hold that over them."

"No…" Bobby started to protest, but trailed off when Deakins lifted his eyebrows in a wordless challenge. Bobby sighed in defeat. "Okay. Maybe I was, just a bit."

Deakins chuckled and clapped him lightly on the shoulder as the elevator slid to a halt at the eleventh floor.

"Coming in to say hello? Everyone would be thrilled to see you."

Bobby froze, though, a look in his eyes akin to panic.

"I… Uh… Frank, Emily and Sophie are waiting for me…"

Understanding dawned in Deakins' eyes, and he nodded.

"Not today, then. Next week, maybe? You can come in and join us for a cup of really bad coffee."

Laughter erupted from Bobby's lips, and he visibly relaxed.

"That would be… Yeah, I can do that. Thankyou."

He wasn't merely referring to the half-joking offer of coffee, and they both knew it. Deakins smiled again.

"Anytime, Bobby."

The elevator doors slid shut, and the captain headed back into the squad room. He'd barely made it past the break room when he found his path blocked by Alex.

"Was that Bobby? Where is he?"

Deakins held his hands up to silence her.

"Slow down, Alex. Yes, that was Bobby, but he's on his way out. His family is waiting for him, apparently."

A flicker of hurt crossed Alex's face.

"He could have stopped in just for a few minutes."

To Deakins' surprise, it was Mike Logan who spoke up in response to that.

"Give the guy time, Eames. He's only been out of the hospital's rehab centre for two weeks, and it had to have been hard enough just coming here for that meeting. Speaking of which, Captain, how did it go?"

"Not entirely sure yet," Deakins admitted as they continued on through to his office. "I think Bobby was interested in what was on offer, but he kept a pretty good poker face. He was asked to make a decision by the end of the week, though, so we'll know by then."

"And if he takes it?" Alex asked. "Are they planning on giving him an office upstairs with the brass? You know he'll hate that."

"One step at a time, Alex. If and when he accepts the offer, then we'll decide where to set him up. Just do me a favour, and don't go hassling him over it. I've got a feeling that he's already made up his mind, but he needs to be allowed to make the choice completely autonomously."

Alex snorted.

"So what am I supposed to say if he asks me for my opinion? Tell him I'm staying neutral? He'd never buy that."

"Don't be an idiot, Eames," Mike spoke up bluntly. "If he asks, tell him what you think. But don't go pushing what _your_ agendas onto him. I think we all know he isn't going to want to leave the NYPD, but Captain's right. He's gotta be allowed to decide it for himself."

Alex groaned softly and rubbed her hands over her face.

"I just want him back here, with us. I feel like, if he was working in here, then I could kid myself that he's still a part of the squad… but I guess that's just being selfish, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't say selfish," Deakins murmured, musing with a slight feeling of guilt that his line of thinking was very similar. Mike raised an eyebrow, and Deakins grimaced. "All right, perhaps it's a little bit selfish. But most of the squad feels the same way."

"What if he doesn't want to come back?" Alex wondered suddenly, a hint of panic in her eyes. "Do you think that's possible? What if…"

"I think," Mike cut her off firmly, "that you're over-thinking the situation, Eames. Like I said, he's only been out of rehab for two weeks. Today was the first day he's been back to One Police Plaza since the shooting. Don't go reading anything more into it just because he didn't stop in here for a visit. It's gotta still be pretty raw with him, after all."

Alex looked from Mike to the captain unhappily as she took a step towards the door.

"I just don't think I'm going to feel right again unless we have Bobby back here… however we have him back."

The two men watched her retreat back to her desk before Mike spoke softly.

"I know I could get my ass kicked for asking this, but was she really ready to come back to work?"

"I wouldn't have wanted to wait any longer, Logan. She needed to get back on the job, for her own sake. I know it's not easy right at the moment, but it will eventually start to get better."

Mike nodded passively.

"I hope so. But right now…?" He paused, and inclined his head to where Alex sat, staring desolately at the empty desk opposite her. "That's a damned miserable sight, Captain."

He wandered out of the office, leaving Deakins alone to take in the sight before him.

"I know," Deakins agreed softly. "Damn it, I know."

* * *

Emily whistled softly as she leafed through the pages that Bobby had given over to her while he sipped at a particularly strong latte.

"This is an impressive offer, Bobby. They really don't want to lose you."

Bobby smiled wryly.

"They weren't going to. To be honest, I was getting ready to accept the original offer from the Commissioner, on the proviso that they allowed me to act in a consultant capacity to Jason Gideon's team. I wasn't expecting this."

"Do you have any idea what you're going to do?" Frank wondered as he helped Sophie with her hot chocolate. Bobby was silent for just a few seconds before answering with a slightly sheepish smile.

"I'm going to accept. It's more than I hoped for, and everything I want. I'll have more freedom than I did as a detective, the pay is a hell of a lot better, and…"

"And?" Emily pressed with a knowing smile. Bobby smile shyly, mildly embarrassed.

"And I'll have the opportunity to keep working with Alex. It… It won't be the same, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. The most important thing, though, is that I'll be able to keep doing what I'm good at. Profiling…"

"Catching the bad guys and locking 'em up!" Sophie burst out, and the adults all laughed.

"Right," Bobby agreed, smiling widely as Sophie slipped off her chair and climbed up onto Bobby's lap, throwing her arms enthusiastically around his neck.

"Easy, sweetheart," Frank murmured, anxious that she not put a foot where it might accidentally do damage.

"She's fine," Bobby reassured him, and then to Sophie; "You want to go and get some ice cream?"

She squealed her assent, and Bobby manoeuvred himself and his passenger away towards the ice cream counter.

"He's gonna be okay," Frank said, feeling a greater sense of relief than he would have ever thought was possible. He felt a hand close over his own, and looked to see Emily smiling brightly at him.

"Yes, he is. Thankyou."

"For what?"

"For trying. You could have run away… In truth, we all expected you to. But you didn't. You stayed."

Frank shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Yeah, well, had to stop running some time. This was as good a time as any."

Emily laughed softly but chose not to argue with him, opting instead to change the subject.

"And the visit to your mom went better yesterday, too."

"It did," Frank agreed. "She was totally lucid yesterday. Didn't remember what happened the last time, but I think Bobby was glad about that. Of course, we had to go through the process of explaining what had happened to Bobby all over again, but at least she accepted it. Just hope she'll remember it for the next visit."

"One at a time, Frank," Emily advised him, and he nodded his agreement.

"Right. One visit at a time."

Bobby and Sophie returned at that moment, with Sophie holding a lavish looking banana split sundae.

"Sophie…" Emily growled lightly.

"We're going to share it," Sophie announced. "Uncle Bobby can have the bananas, I get the cherries, and we get to have half the ice cream each."

"Don't look at me," Bobby protested when his brother and sister in-law shot him identical looks. "It was all her. I just paid for it."

"Oh, that's shameful," Frank laughed. "Blaming a kid!"

Bobby smirked, picked up a spoon and helped himself to an enormous scoop of ice cream, much to the amusement of the other adults. As he and Sophie dug into the towering treat, Frank and Emily exchanged surreptitious smiles across the table. Bobby was definitely going to be okay.

* * *

_tbc..._


End file.
